


Monster, How Should I Feel?

by OkamiShadou98



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Psychology, Spuffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 83,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkamiShadou98/pseuds/OkamiShadou98
Summary: If Riley and the Initiative had never existed, how would Buffy and Spike's relationship have changed? As Buffy works to pull herself together and mature, she finds help from the strangest source, the platinum haired vampire who swore to kill her. In doing so, she finds that some scars never truly fade and not all monsters are beyond redemption. Season 4 AU - Spuffy





	1. Creatures Lie Here

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may have seen this fic on other sites. I decided to put it up here as well because AO3 is where I spend most of my time now. This story came to me when I was re watching season 4 and remembered how much I disliked Riley’s character. It starts cannon, but diverges pretty quickly. Most of the dialogue from the first chapter is taken directly from the season 4 episode “The Harsh Light of Day” but everything else is written by me. I have a good many chapters already finished so I'll update as fast as you all want me to.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

The room was full of teenagers, bodies pressing close to the stage where the night’s band was playing. On the upper balcony, a leather clad figure lounged, leaning against the railing lazily as he surveyed the buffet below. Strobe lights rotated from the ceiling, coloring his normally platinum hair blue and red as the beams of light passed over him.

The heady scents of hormones and blood drifted around, stimulating the demon within him. He reeled the monster back, his eyes flashing from blue to yellow for a moment.

Most of his attention was focused on a group of three girls sitting at a table behind him. He had followed them all the way here from the shopping district - stalking your prey was half the fun after all.

“Shelly, you have got to get over Mark.” he heard one of them say, and he turned his head slightly, catching them in his peripherals.

Two of them were rather unremarkable, your basic carbon copy brunettes. The other was the one who had caught his attention. She was slender with a full set of lips and cascading blonde hair.

God did he love a blonde.

She was speaking to her friends, her voice rough with emotion, “Anne, I can’t! I loved him.” she said.

The girl, Anne, shrugged, “Well he cheated on you so the feeling must not have been mutual.”

“It’s been three weeks already, Shelly! It’s time to get over him and find another guy.” the other spoke confidently.

‘Stupid bints,’ the vampire thought, sensing that their words, far from comforting the blonde, were making her feel worse.

Deciding he had waited long enough, he turned and approached the table, slapping a charming smile across his face.

“Excuse me,” he said softly and the three girls faced him, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

The brunettes were both blushing, their eyes all over him. Shelly, however, did not seem as dense as her friends. Her lips were downturned in the beginning of a frown, mistrust blossoming in her eyes.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.” she said sharply.

He nodded thoughtfully, “True.” he admitted.

The girl’s eyes widened, she had clearly not expected him to agree with her.

Before she could respond, he continued, “But I noticed you were upset and it bothered me to know some cheating bloke had done it.”

Gradually, the uncertainty drained from her eyes and was replaced with interest. He held back a smirk, breaking character now would lose him his supper.

“I was wondering, actually, if you would be interested in dancing?” he held out his hand, keeping his face earnest.

‘So easy.’ 

Shelley hesitated a moment, her friends watching with a mixture of jealousy and hunger, before taking the offered hand.

“You’re cold.” she said in surprise.

He grinned, that dopey look William always used to wear, “Poor circulation. Dancing will help warm me up.” he said easily.

Leading her away from her friends, he found a secluded corner that overlooked the band but hid them from other people on the balcony.

“So,” she said as her hands rested on his shoulders, “What’s your name?”

He gripped her waist gently, keep a bit of distance between them, “Most people call me Spike.” he said.

She laughed, the sound reminding him of a wind-chime… if said wind-chime was rubbed against a cheese grater. Why did the nicest looking bints always have the most annoying voices?

His thoughts strayed to Harmony and he shuttered, dreading when he would return home to her and her endless chatter.

Shelly mistook his tremble for being cold and she moved closer, leaving only a few centimeters between them.

“I’m Shelly, though you probably already knew that from listening in.” she said, her skin flush.

Though Spike had never been able to hypnotize people the way Drusilla could, he had always suspected something about him drew the opposite gender. Women always seemed to become obsessed with him once he turned on the charm, not that he was complaining.

His hands slid to her hips and he gripped her tighter, “Pretty name.” he whispered, breath curling against her ear.

Her arms came up, her fingers lacing behind his head as they swayed seductively.

He could feel himself become aroused, the combination of being about to feed and having the girl so close to him sending his blood rushing down south.

“Try somethin’?” he asked huskily, lips just brushing her ear.

She trembled against him, the scent of her arousal making him light headed.

“Try what?” she gasped, pressing against him.

He groaned at the contact, “Close your eyes.” 

She complied, full lashes fluttering closed. Slowly, he pressed his lips against her ear, sliding lower with each brush against her skin. By the time he reached her neck, she had begun to grind against him, moaning.

His fangs slid out, the music hiding the crunching sound created as his face morphed. He pressed his lips firmly against where her pulse was strongest, feeling the blood rushing just below the surface.

Vampires had the ability to feed without causing pain, though it required patience. As he was in no hurry to return to Harmony, Spike took his time, sliding his fangs into her neck neatly.

She gasped, grinding against him harder as he drank from her slowly, too caught in lust to realize what was happening. 

The blood danced across his tongue, warm and slightly sweet. It settled in his stomach, a ball of warmth that spread throughout him. Shelly had begun to weaken, leaning heavily against his frame even as he drew in another mouthful.

Her pulse was sluggish as she slumped forward, unconscious in his arms. As much as he wanted to finish her off, he knew doing so would not be in his best interest. A dead body would make the news and alert the slayer. The girl would wake up feeling sick and stumble home, thinking he had put something in her drink, and no one would be the wiser.

Propping the prone form in a chair, he arranged her to look like she was sleeping. Moving some of her hair to cover his bite mark, he stepped back and peered around the corner of the alcove, looking for her friends.

The two brunettes were nowhere to be found, meaning they had probably vacated to the lower floor. Strolling towards the stairs, he glanced at the room below where people had dispersed some, the band having just finished their set.

His eyes followed one of the band mates, a kid with reddish hair, as he jumped off the stage and made his way to a table with two girls.

“Shit!” Spike hissed between his teeth, recognizing the girls as the Slayer and Red.

He was about to make his hasty escape when something caught his attention. The two girls kept looking up at a round mirror located above them, clearing watching someone. From his angle, he could not make out the source of their fascination.

Deciding he wanted a closer look, curiosity had been one of the human traits he had retained after turning, he made his way down the stairs and approached the trio cautiously. He positioned himself behind and to the right of them, close enough to hear them talking but far enough to be outside their line of vision.

“Buffy’s having lusty wrong feelings.” Red was saying to the band member.

Spike’s brow rose as he snorted. ‘Interested in another bloke already? Forehead only left the Hellmouth three months ago.’

The Slayer was denying her friend’s claim, shaking her head though judging by the smug look on Red’s face, she was not buying it.

He had tuned out some of their banter, quickly becoming bored again. Deciding it was time to vacate the premise, he paused again when a tall man from the pool table walking towards the group. 

He tapped on the Slayer’s shoulder, eliciting a breathy, “Hi.” from her.

“I just wanted to say, I’m heading out. And it’s not real safe around here, so, if you need a walk back to your dorm.” the boy said sheepishly.

‘God, tell me she’s not gonna fall for that.’ Spike thought, realizing the bloke was playing with her. 

When the Slayer flirted back shamelessly, the vampire resisted the urge to face palm. After the whole Angel debacle, he had assumed she would have become more careful around men. Whatever radar of hers that was so good at picking out every bleeding vampire was terrible at distinguishing the shitty blokes.

The two were leaving the club, not quite touching. Spike tasted something bitter in the back of his throat, driving out any remaining sweetness from his dinner. Unconsciously, he began to follow the couple as they exited.

Outside the Bronze was mostly deserted, meaning he had to keep well back to avoid being spotted. The dim street lighting meant his hair did not glow, making it easier for him to blend in with his all black attire.

The couple was making their way back to the shopping district, the street gradually becoming more and more crowded as they progressed. Spike was able to slide closer, making out their conversation.

“Hobbies?” the Slayer was asking.

The man replied easily, “Yeah, hobbies. Interests. I feel like there’s so much I still don’t know about you. What do you like to do?”

Spike snorted. Clearly the bugger had no idea he was talking to The Vampire Slayer. Buffy was still entertaining the notion she could live a normal life, something Spike thought he had made resoundingly clear last year that she could not have.

It bothered him some to see her, usually so poised and graceful, pretending to be what she so obviously was not. He may be just a vampire, but at least he knew what that meant.

“What’s that?” Floppy Hair said, his gaze fastened to her neck.

“What’s what?” she replied, confused.

“You have a scar.” 

Spike was not the tallest bloke, even in boots. Standing on his toes to get a better look, he watched the boy rub a bite mark on her neck. Angel’s bite mark.

“Oh. Right. Angry puppy.” the Slayer said self consciously, “So do I get to see any of your scars?” she asked, diverting attention away from the still touchy subject.

Spike closed the distance between them, getting dangerously close. He was now only twelve feet behind, well within her sensing range.

Buffy, however, remained oblivious, her attention still focused resolutely on the ponce, who he now knew was named Parker. He only half listened to the rest of the conversation, not particularly interested in their “hopes for the future” bullshit.

When the couple turned down a side road, headed for the university, Spike continued going straight, lost in thought.

As much as he wanted to kill the Slayer, he had enjoyed their little jaunt last year when he had kidnapped Red to make him a love potion. Sure Forehead had been there which always soured the mood, but it had been exhilarating. 

There were few, even in the demon world, who could match him in a fight. With Buffy, it had been more than a bar brawl, they had been dancing.

That is why it was so disconcerting to see her lower herself for a ponce she had only met a week ago. Was she really so desperate to be normal she was ignoring all the warning signs? He kicked moodily at a bent can, sending it careening down the sidewalk. Since he had first met her, he had recognized Buffy as an equal. 

They had never gotten along, he had made sure of it, but there had been a grudging respect. Not many had his respect. Hell, he hardly even bothered to learn the name’s of his enemies. That was where his distaste was boiling from, he had given her what was a huge honor in his eyes and here she was, embracing the stereotypical college girl persona.

It was not often he was so wrong about someone.

He growled, frustrated at how she had once again managed to spoil his good mood. Deciding to just return home, he opened the first manhole he came across, dropping in neatly and disappearing into the labyrinth below.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harmony lounged on a table, wincing every time one of the jackhammers caused a small avalanche of stones to cascade, filling the air with debris. Her eyes were trained on the back of her platinum haired boyfriend.

He had promised to take her out later that night but once again his stupid project had taken precedence over their relationship. She remembered when she had first seen him, all powerful and sexy in his leather jacket… and those cheekbones. Too bad she could not show him off to Cordelia.

Swinging herself down from the table, she approached Spike, who was strangling Brian for some reason. Linking her hands around his flat stomach, she tried to get his attention.

“How’s my little blondy-bear?” she simpered.

Spike was tensing under her touch, his aura turning black. She did not notice however, too busy trying to look sultry.

“Harm, does this look like a good time to talk?” the words were practically snarled.

She ignored him, “Are you gonna kill Willow today? Cause I want you to say ‘this is for messing with my sweet girl’-” she broke off as he spun in her grasp and shoved her against a wall bodily.

“Sod off, I’ve got work to do.” he said, returning his attention to the mess of hand drawn schematics littering the table.

“I wanna go to a party!” she demands, her voicing rising to a dog whistle-like pitch.

This time when Spike grabbed her, he pinned her against the wall with his body, temper snapping.

“Ooh, right here baby? In front of Brian?” she asked, licking her lip in a way that made Spike want to stake her.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he spat, tightening his grip.

‘Maybe I would… after a party.” she seductively.

Spike groaned inwardly, not even remotely interested in venturing out again after the previous night. Thoughts of the Slayer had nagged at him all day, making him distracted and edgy. He just wanted to get the Gem of Amarra so he could kill her and get her out of his head. 

“Tonight. I’ll take you somewhere nice.” he promised Harmony vaguely, more so to stop her interruptions than because he bore her any real affection  
And if she was “accidentally" staked tonight, well, it didn't hurt bloke to hope.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking down the lane, Spike followed the large crowd of teens, Harmony plastered to his left side. He constantly told her to stand at his right, he was left handed and did not want his dominant side hampered by her. But the stupid bint never listened, sometimes he wondered why he had ever allowed her to live. Her tongue was suddenly in his ear and he remembered why.

Moving her away regretfully, he told her, “Later. Let’s get somethin’ to eat first.”

She complied, still hanging onto his arm. 

“Where are you taking me?” she asked excitedly.

He gestured towards the crowd they were shadowing, “Followin’ the breadcrumb trail.” he smirked.

Eating had become incredibly easy upon his arrival at the university. With so many parties taking place with alcohol, it took little effort to pick up a drunk student and drain them before anyone noticed. It was one of the benefits of having Harmony around actually, she could pass for a college student what with her being the same age as most of the freshmen. He had found he was simply too adult looking to pass scrutiny when he was alone, his punk look not helping matters.

The group of teens seemed to all be heading towards a well lit house already stuffed with occupants and Spike followed, shouldering his way inside.

Despite it being only half past eight, many of the party goers were already clearly drunk, stumbling around and making noise.

“Pick one out.” he said to Harmony, wincing as she squealed in his ear.

She disentangled herself from him, moving deeper into the party. Looking around, Spike noticed a table laden with red solo cups. He picked one up as he passed, sniffing the contents curiously. His nose wrinkled at the scent of flat beer but he downed it anyway wishing for something with more fire.

He had just reached for another when Harmony appeared by his side excitedly.

“Find someone?” he asked, leaving his customary ‘pet’ or luv’ off the end of his sentence.

For whatever reason, he had never been able to use the terms when referring to her. 

“Yes! Come on!” she grabbed his arm and dragged him impatiently into the kitchen area.

Here, only a few people were gathered, most of them glassy eyed from drinking.

“That one.” Harmony pointed to a man who was holding his head and groaning.

Spike approached the man and said brightly, “Alex! That you?”

The boy looked up, squinting, “Wrong guy.” he mumbled.

Spike shook his head, grasping the other man’s arm and pulling him into a hallway, “Oh. My mistake.” he said before sinking his fangs into the side of his neck.

He only took a little, knowing he would have to share with the excavation team. Harmony was by his side, slurping hungrily at the man’s throat.

“Easy there, don’t drain him entirely.” Spike said, watching their prey grow more and more ashen.

Harmony relinquished her hold, fangs retracting as she pouted, “Why do we always have to share with the others?” she asked.

“Because I need a well fed team to finish our little project.” he said, as he positioned their dinner between them, an arm around his shoulder to drag him out.

He led the way back towards the door, shrugging off most people’s questions, “He’s just a little drunk. Reckon we take ‘im home.” 

They had nearly escaped when they collided with another couple.

“Oy-” Spike began but cut off, suddenly looking at Buffy and Parker of all people.

‘Bloody hell’ he thoughts, wondering if he could abandon Harmony and bail.

“Spike. Harmony.” Buffy said, sizing the two up.

“Buffy. Hi. What a cute outfit, last year.” Harmony smirked.

Spike tried to hit her, hidden by the unconscious student between them. She shot him what she thought was an evil glare. In actuality it reminded him of a grinning horse.

“Well, this is interesting. Sort of a double date.” he smirked, getting a chance to study Parker up close.

The boy was weak, even for a human, and that floppy hair was starting to piss him off.

Buffy was scowling, “I think you two should go.” she said.

“But the fun’s just starting, old friends, lots to drink.” he jiggled his dinner.

Floppy Hair was frowning, “Looks like your friend there started the party a little early, huh?”

Spike gave him a derisive look, returning his focus to Buffy, “Say, let’s have a look at the new boy. Hmm. I like him. He’s got, what’s the word, vulnerability.” he swiped his tongue over his lip as he said the last word.

Floppy Hair held out his hand, oblivious to the undertones in the conversation, “Hi, I’m Parker.”

Spike stared at the hand, wondering if Buffy would throw a fit if he bit it.

“And you, with Harmony. Lose a bet?” Buffy asked, clearly growing tired of the banter.

Ignoring Harmony’s protest, Spike decided now would be an excellent time to leave.

“Actually, how we met, funny story, really-” he threw the remains of dinner at Parker and took off, leaving Harmony to Buffy. With any luck, maybe she would get staked.

Vaulting a table, he shoved past party goers, the Slayer on his tail. Bursting out the front door, he took off down the sidewalk, deciding at the last moment to fight a little. He ducked behind a row of bushes, waiting.

Buffy was approaching, her steps wary. Right when he was going to spring, she spun and punched at him. As he had noted earlier, Buffy had once been a good match for him. Sidestepping her blow, he returned with one of his own, moving out into the dim light.

He could sense she was not as strong as she was last year, it had almost been too easy to dodge her. Footsteps echoed and he turned sharply, only to be confronted with an out of breath Harmony.

“Dru dump you again?” Buffy taunted, raising a stake menacingly and lashing out at him.

Once again, dodging is almost too easy, boring even, “Maybe I dumped her.” he growled, his next punch just a hair’s breadth from her face.

“She left him for a Fungus Demon. It’s all he talks about some days.” Harmony offered from the back, bouncing on her heels like a child.

“Harm, we’re going.” he glared at Buffy, “It isn’t time yet.”

Harmony smirked, “Yeah, but as soon as we have the Gem of Amarra you’re gonna be so-” The rest of her sentence dissolved into a wail of pain as Spike grabbed her, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. He began to drag her away, cursing viciously.

“I. Will. Disembowel. You!” he snarled, feeling her bones grind beneath his hand.

She squealed in fear as he dropped her unceremoniously down a manhole, he himself taking the ladder. He did not bother helping her up, instead storming through the maze of tunnels, duster flapping at his ankles.

The entire plan was now ruined. Harmony had doused all his hard work in lighter fluid and blown the entire fucking thing up. He lashed out at the wall, punching it hard enough to break one of the cement blocks. This only served to infuriate him more, reminding him of the short fight he had had with the Slayer.

“I need to kill something.” he said aloud, punching the wall again for good measure.

He thought about returning to the party and having a bit of a massacre when his thoughts strayed to Floppy Hair.

“Damn ponce, he’s ruined a perfectly good Slayer.” he snarled, eyes glowing yellow, “Maybe if I kill him, she’ll be a little more willing to fight.”

He had not meant it but the more he thought about it, the more he enjoyed the image of his hands around the idiot’s throat.

Retracing his steps, he climbed out of the manhole he had just disappeared into, forgetting about Harmony. He approached the party, only to see the Slayer and her poof already leaving, the two heading for the university dorms.

Perhaps his return had ruined their night out, the thought made him smirk. Following the couple, he was surprised when they passed the freshmen dormitory, heading to the upperclassmen building. 

The two were sandwiched together, laughing and giggling in a way that could only mean… he stopped short. 

“Bastard.” he muttered.

He had known Floppy Hair was playing Buffy but he had never expected for her to fall for it completely. After all, she saw had always seen through him so easily. Why was Parker any different?

‘Because you’re a vampire and he’s a human,’ a bitter voice answered him.

A part of him, the demon, was excited to see her get so hurt, to be destroyed all over again. But the poncy Victorian in him would not allow him to walk away.

“Sod off, William.” he growled, frustration raising his temper again.

He watched Parker lean in for a kiss. Buffy’s eyes were closed and she failed to see his gaze drift to a group of girls who were walking past.

Well that did it. If there was one thing Spike valued, it was loyalty. In the century he had been with Drusilla, never once had he strayed from her.

Striding over to the still kissing couple, Spike tapped Buffy on the shoulder, stepping back to avoid the punch he knew she would throw.

She whirled, eyes widening and went to hit him, surprised to find him already out of reach.

“What do you want, another round of Kick the Spike?” she asked, furious he was here now, when she and Parker were so close to…

“Hardly.” he said dryly, “Though if I remember correctly, you hardly touched me before.” his scarred brow arched.

“Go away.” she growled, making him laugh.

“Actually, wanted to talk for a tick. That is if Floppy Hair could spare you.” he said, enjoying the confused look Parker was giving him.

“Who’s Floppy Hair?” he asked, brushing his bangs back and highlighting Spike’s point perfectly.

Even Buffy had noticed, her lips twitching as she tried to withhold a grin.

“I mean you.” Spike said, “Now can I speak with the lady?”

Buffy turned to Parker, “Just give me a second okay?” she said.

Parker looked concerned, eyeing Spike, “You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” she said and stepped towards Spike retreating far enough that Parker could not hear the conversation.

“What do you want?” she asked the vampire, glaring at him.

“My my, touchy tonight are we?” he asked, sticking his thumbs in his belt loops.

“Hurry up.” she growled, her eyes unconsciously following the motion of his hands.

“Eyes up here luv.” he said, noticing her straying gaze.

Her eyes shot back up, a look of confusion and horror written across her face, “I wasn’t… whatever it is that you think I was doing.” she said sharply, “Now tell me why you felt the need to talk to me, Parker’s waiting.”

At the mention of the other man, Spike’s smirk vanished, his posture become serious, “Floppy Hair, er... Parker I mean. He’s playing you.” Gods, had he bludgeoned that.

Buffy stared at him in disbelief, “What?” 

“The lad, he just wants to bump uglies with you.” Spike said morosely.

“You… you pig!” she snapped, face coloring, “He’s not like that!”

“I woulda thought that you’d be more careful ‘bout men after Angel.” Spike said, trying to keep calm.

“Don’t you dare bring him up! What give you the right?” she was practically radiating killing intent.

“Look you don’t believe me? Fine. I was just doin’ you a favor, Slayer.” he snapped.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he withdrew a cigarette and stuck it his mouth as he searched for his lighter. Withdrawing the bit of metal from one of his jacket pockets, he lit the stick and took a long draw, trying to relax.

Buffy had not moved, she was staring at him, brow wrinkled.

He waited a moment, expecting her to talk again. After several seconds of continued silence, he turned and began to walk away, furious with William for getting him into this mess.

“Why?” she called out, making him stop short.

He half-turned, her figured blurred by the smoke rising from the end of the cigarette clasped between his lips.

“Why what?” he asked.

She visibly swallowed, “Why would you ‘do me a favor’?” she asked.

“You don’t believe me so what’s it matter? Maybe this was all part of one of my evil plans, yeah?” he scoffed.

Her body stiffened at the taunt, “Yeah because you know so much about it. How many times did that crazy bitch cheat on you again?”

His face vamped-out, the demon ignoring William’s protest. The ground between him and her was covered in a flash, his face suddenly so close to her that he could make out the different colors of her iris.

“Shut the fuck up.” he whispered, the lack of yelling scaring her far more than screaming would have.

She jerked away from him, reaching for the stake in her jacket. He was already gone though, tearing into the darkness without a sound. Her eyes scanned the area warily, half expecting him to jump out again. 

After a moment, she stowed the stake and returned to Parker, who was talking to a few other students. His posture was relaxed as he addressed the group, most of them female, and Buffy felt a moment of doubt cross her mind as she recalled Spike’s words. 

‘He was just messing with you.’ she thought sharply, shaking her head to clear it.

Approaching Parker, she slipped her arm around his, drawing his attention to her.

“Buffy, everything okay?” he asked frowning in concern.

“Everything’s peachy!” she said happily, “Are these your friends?” she asked, gesturing to the group of girls he had been talking with.

“Oh yeah kinda. We have some classes together and stuff.” he said, “You ready to go?”

He nodded goodbye to the group and walked along with Buffy, continuing on to the dorms.

“You sure you’re okay?” he pressed once they were out of earshot of the others.

Buffy smiled, knowing Spike was wrong about him. Parker had been nothing short of kind to her since she met him. She could sense demons, and he was far from one.

She kissed him soundly, smiling softly, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was totally not okay. 

Parker had promised to call her, she had checked her machine every chance she got. Last night had been, well incredible. Not that being with Angel had not been wonderful, but the memory was tainted with the whole soul losing bit. Being with Parker had been easy, uncomplicated. 

Until now, that is.

She'd had class all morning so only now was she able to search for him. The cafeteria and his dorm had not yielded any results. Nor had asking any of the people he usually hung out with.  
Giles would be furious if he knew she was looking for a boy instead of trying to find out what Spike had wanted with the Gem of Amarra. Then again, he would be equally angry to know she had spoken to the vampire alone, in the middle of the night. 

Sighing, she walked by students sitting around tables or on benches goofing off. When had life gotten so complicated? Balancing everything in high school had basically worked, except for the school part… and the social part now that she thought about it. But now in college, she could feel the slaying slipping as well. It was getting harder and harder to beat vampires that in the past were not even a challenge.

Her thoughts went back to her very first week of college and the nest of vampires she had found stealing from students. They had been stupid, nothing compared to Spike or Angel, and still she had nearly lost.

She sighed, deciding to go back to her dorm and check the phone one last time. Even if Parker had not called, she was sure Giles had left a message about the Amarra thing.

Passing through the green area, she came up short when she recognized none other than Parker himself, talking to another girl.

It was like a physical blow, her stomach felt as though someone had punched her. Forcing her feet to move, she walks up to Parker.

“Parker?” she asks hesitantly, trying to keep her face from crumbling.

He turns towards her, unfazed, “Buffy! Buffy Summers, this is Katie Loomis.” 

She stares in disbelief, Spike’s words coming back to her in a rush, “Parker, what’s going on?” she asks uncertainly.

He addresses Katie, his tone indicating he finds the interruption bothersome, “Hey, Katie, you’re gonna be late for class. I’ll catch up, okay?”

Buffy tries to give Parker the benefit of the doubt. It was Spike who had planted all this uncertainty in her. His lies had made her paranoid. Of course she expected Parker to speak with other girls. She had male friends like Oz and Xander after all.

“She’s a friend of yours?” she asked.

“Yeah. You’d like her a bunch. So, what’s up?” Parker moved away, leading them towards the shade thrown by the side of the science hall.

Everything about this felt wrong, “Well, you, sort of, didn’t call. I mean, I understand if you’ve been busy or sick or something.” she finished lamely, giving him every possible excuse she could think of.

Parker seemed bemused, “It’s only been a couple of days. You need to talk to me about something?” he asked.

Buffy blinked, the casualness of his tone making her second guess herself. For him to be smiling, either she was overreacting or Spike had been…

“Well, is… is everything… okay?” she asked.

He smiled, a look that lit up his entire face, “Sure it is.”

“It is?” she responded, still trying to suppress her misgivings.

“Sure.” he nods easily.

Buffy sighed in relief, “Oh. So, do you maybe want to go do something?”

He nods again, gazing at something behind her, “We can do that. Absolutely.”

“Great. Tonight?” she asked, relieved that her fears had been unfounded.

She slipped her hand into his, marveling at the warmth she felt radiating from his skin. It had been the only downfall of dating Angel, he was never warm.

“Well, the thing is, I think I’m sort of getting together with some people later.”

Her hand fell away.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike had found the Gem of Amarra, he’d bloody done it. Now, standing in the sunlight for the first time in over a century, he marveled at the warmth.

“Makes me want to take off my duster.” he said aloud, grinning broadly and squinting in the light.

He set off across the campus, keeping an eyes out for anyone blonde. It was not Buffy he saw first, though, but Floppy Hair.

The boy was speaking with another girl cockily. His stomach clenched, he had been right about him all along. He wished the Slayer had bothered to heed his warning last night.

And speaking of the Slayer, there she was watching the ponce flirt shamelessly. She approached the boy, lacking any of her usual vigor. The longer the conversation between the two dragged one, the weaker and weaker she seemed to become.

Spike growled to himself, enraged by the hold the prat seemed to have over the Slayer. She was a warrior, a master of her craft. How dare he make her feel weak or sub-par. He had seen her fight, driven by love and loyalty. And he had seen her cry for those same reasons. 

He decided he was going to make her remember who she was and unleash the warrior inside, the Gem of Amarra be damned. This would not be a dance, this would be a brawl…

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy watched Parker walk away, tears threatening to form in the corners of her eyes. Every time someone got close to her, they would leave. Worse, they took a small part of her with them, a part she could never seem to replace.

“Well that was pathetic.” a familiar English voice drawled.

Spinning around sharply, she found herself confronted by Spike… in daylight. He was grinning, human teeth peeking from behind his lips.

She never even saw his first punch.

She felt it though, blood forming in the corner of her mouth as she tried to rise from the ground. A stick lay beside her and she picked it up, wielding it like a stake.

Spike stood over her, laughing, “Surprised to see me?” he asked, ducking around her as she swung the stick.

“Guess you found your gem.” she growled, swinging again.

“I did, took a bit more work than I’d expected. Apparently, I collapsed part of a highway.” he said proudly.

She lashed out at him again, her blow just missing his face. He returned the favor by punching her soundly in the gut, sending her rolling.

“Didn’t take my advice did ya?” he asked, standing over her calmly.

“Shut up.” she snarled, leaping back up to her feet and lashing out with her foot, catching him in the knee.

As his leg buckled, Spike smirked, “Finally! I was beginning to think your fire was dead.”

Her next kick smashed into his face, “What does that mean?” she asked, leaping back as he tried to tackle her.

“Floppy Hair was killing you, you know.” he said, dodging her swinging stick, “You were acting weak when he was around.”

“No I wasn’t!” she grunted, her next punch missing again.

“See? You can’t even hit me.” he snarled, “We used to be equals, not anymore. Wonder what changed?”

Without warning he had picked her up and tossed her hard towards a glass table. She collided hard, shards of rain spilling around her. Picking herself up, she backed away.

“We were never equals.” she said, searching for another weapon.

“Yeah, we were. You used to be a great warrior y’know. When we danced, it felt like magic, nothin’ like this bloody brawl.” he swore.

Buffy shook her head, keeping herself distanced, “What’s the difference whether we brawl or dance or whatever?”

Spike was close to boiling, she could practically feel the heat radiating off of him, “We used to dance, know every move before it happened. It was poetic and proper, the way its supposed to be. Have ya wondered why your fighting is bloody awful now? It’s because you don’t care. You’re not reading your opponents. You just blunder in and hope for the best. That’s not how this works luv. You’re too good for that.

“Right now, you are pathetic, actin’ like that ponce was your entire life. Get over it and be who you are meant to be!” he roared, startling her.

“What do you know?” she yelled back, suddenly coming in close and getting a solid hit on his nose.

He stumbled back, the gem protecting him from real damage though, “I know it’s not fair, not a bit of it. People like us don’t get to choose what we are. It’s a curse given to us by the powers that be and it sucks sometimes. But we make the best of it everyday. Cause otherwise there’s no point in existin’ at all.”

His words brought her up short. All this time, she had been trying to understand and move forward but some great weight had not allowed her. And Spike, her enemy, had just summed it all up for her. Why was he always better at reading her than even herself?

He was glaring at her, blue eyes smoldering, she had never noticed his real eye color before… not that there was any reason she should.

Something was growing in her, a small flame kindling deep inside. Until now, she had not even noticed it was gone but now it warmed her entire being, calling to the Slayer inside her.

Spike was coming at her again, right fist cocked. She knew it was a feint, he always started with his dominant hand. Bringing up her right arm, she blocked his blow. Grabbing his shoulder with her other hand, she threw him against the low stone wall that surrounded the tables and chairs. 

He hit it hard, blocking her next hit blindly. He managed to keep her at bay with his kicks, not allowing her to get close enough to take his ring. She moved around his feet, managing to grab the back of his duster and pulled him hard, sending his form careening into the paving stones.

Even with the ring, the hit to the back of his head was enough to make his vision go nearly black. By the time it had cleared, he was pinned on his back, Buffy over him with her hand against his ring finger.

He struggled a moment before relenting, “Go on then. Take it. I know you were thinkin’ of Captain Forehead the moment you read ‘bout it.”

“What no evil quip?” she asked, pulling the ring off his unresisting hand slowly.

He shook his head, “Not today. It’s enough you got your fire back.” he said.

His words unnerved her, “Well, you’ll be on fire in about ten seconds.” she said as she jerked the ring off.

Whatever response he was about to give was lost in a howl of pain that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He shoved her off, sprinting for the opened storm drain he had first entered through, duster thrown over his head to protect himself. 

Buffy watched him go, not bothering to give chase. His words still bounced around her skull. She looked down at the ring clutched in her grasp, surveying the simple design.

It did not make sense she had it, he was strong enough to fight her off. Yet, when she had threatened to take it, he had simply given in despite knowing what her intentions for it were.

“He...he gave it to me.” she said aloud in wonderment, gaze drifting back to the opened storm drain.

She clutched the ring tighter, the edges biting into her hand.

“What the hell is going on?” she said but received no answer, her only companion the birds pecking idly at the ground looking for worms.


	2. Self Esteem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that really follows the canon and it's a bit of a stretch. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

The black DeSoto careened down the highway, going well above the speed limit. Horns honked angrily as the vehicle swerved through traffic, swapping lanes as it weaved between cars. Blackened out windows stopped other driver's from making out the menace behind the wheel of the vintage car, the only unobscured part of the windows being a small bit of the windshield the size of an envelope.

Music screamed from the car, despite the windows being closed, a British voice singing along -

"Fuck the politically minded, here's something I want to say  
About the state of the nation, the way they treat us today  
At school they give you shit, drop you in a pit  
You try, you try, you try to get out, but you can't because they've fucked you about  
Then you're a prime example of how they must not be  
This is just a sample, what they've done to you and me."

Spike reached for his flask, which had at some point rolled onto the floor. Taking his eyes off the road completely, he uncapped it and took a long swig. More horns screamed at him, his gaze returning to the road just in time for him to jerk the wheel hard, narrowly missing a semi-truck. Laughing, he tossed the flask in the back seat, where it joined the layer of empty glass bottles he never bothered to clean out.

He had spent the last week in Las Vegas on vacation, gambling and drinking to his demon's desire. The excavation crew and Harmony thought he had gone to Los Angeles to retrieve the Gem of Amarra, he still had do maintain his Big Bad identity. In actuality, he had lost interest in the Gem after fighting Buffy. Seeing her belittle herself for Parker had tainted the whole thing somehow and besides, he had never really been a fan of daylight even before turning.

He took the exit for Sunnydale, curbing his hellion driving and settling into a cruise, heading towards the University. The entire town was dotted with opened access tunnels but the ones located near the school were the best. They were so overgrown, he could stash his car and no one would be the wiser.

Coasting down a dirt road that had been cleared out for the building of the tunnel, he stopped the vehicle in the shade of a large group of maples. The foliage was so dense here that, even at noon, there was little chance of him combusting. He might get burned a bit but not enough light filtered through to prove detrimental.

Tugging his duster high to hide his face, he opened the door and scrambled out of the car, making a run for the tunnel opening. Diving inside, he ignored the scent of singed hair and righted his clothes, making his way towards his excavation site.

He had given his minions strict orders to not leave the hideout, not wanting to incur the Slayer's wrath. He remembered the last fight they had shared, if not for the ring he certainly would have been black and blue all over. It bothered him to know that William had, in some way, had to save her. The fire in her had been well and truly dead that day.

He snarled, it used to be easy when Dru was around, William had always been so terrified of her he would not dare stick his nose in Spike's business. But now she was gone and the Victorian had a much stronger hold then he had anticipated, even able to occasionally quell the demon and do the right thing.

Sighing in frustration, he raked a hand through his hair, pulling some of his curls free from their gel prison. Ever since the Floppy Hair incident, as he had dubbed the day, he had felt William's influence growing within him. One of the reason he had gone to Las Vegas had been to let his demon off its leash, hoping it would overthrow this new bleeding conscious he had developed.

He wondered if Harmony had hung around, not that he particularly cared. It had astonished him she had not been dusted already, even fledglings had more common sense than she seemed capable of possessing.

His musings were broken as he entered the large cavern his minions had been living in. The place was empty, tables overturned and blueprints littering the floor.

"Brian!" he called out as he made his way through the mess, stepping over abandoned tools as he went, "Anyone home?"

There was no one aside from a drained corpse which was still strung up from last week's hunt. The hole in the ceiling that let to the tomb where the Gem of Amarra had been was enlarged, now big enough to fit several men.

His brows thundered down as he realized that his minions had left, probably taking anything of value. This was confirmed when he entered the space where his bed and personal effects had been, finding nearly everything taken or broken.

The small chest that contained his clothes stood open and empty, the hinged top broken off.

"If they touched the CDs…" Spike snarled to himself, casting himself on the floor to look under the bed.

Fortunately, his minions were not the most brilliant vampires he had ever encounter. Everything he had stored under the bed seemed untouched. Pulling out a cardboard box overflowing with albums, he rifled through them, making sure none were gone.

"Crass, Sex Pistols, The Clash…" he trailed off, satisfied.

Setting the box aside, he pulled out another one. Resting inside were a myriad of weapons, including a shotgun and battleaxe. These were his trophies, proof of his prowess in battle. Two stakes sat at the bottom, one from each Slayer he had killed.

His relief was short lived though, as he realized the meaning of his minion's abandoning him. They must have thought him incapable of retrieving the ring, had decided he was going to die anyway trying to take it back. It explained why his possessions had been picked through, no vampire in their right mind would steal from a master vamp such as himself without being sure they would never be caught.

Spinning on his heels, he stalked back out into the larger room, stowing the cardboard boxes in the tunnel, "Faithless buggers, the lot of them. I'll kill 'em all!" he roared the last word, picking up one of the only pieces of furniture still in one piece, a chair, and hurling it across the room.

The crash made as the chair exploded against the wall awakened something inside him. He continued kicking and smashing things with his bare hands, relishing the return of his demon. William was hiding deep inside without interfering, giving up control. Pouring all of the building rage from the last week into destroying everything in sight, he vamped out as the demon took control completely.

A rumbling noise sounded from above his head as he tore into one of the supports that had been put in place to keep the ceiling from caving in. Ignoring it, he attacked another, debris spilling down on him as the roof began to buckle.

A large rock shook itself loose and hit him on the back of the head, making stars appear in his vision. It was enough to bring him to his sense, the fangs retracting as he looked up at the shaking ceiling.

"Oh fuck."

He launched himself out of harm's way, landing hard on his stomach Scrabbling forward on hands and knees, he tucked his head down as chunks of rock continued to fall around him. The amount of debris in the air rendered him blind, the only thing guiding him was the faint scent of fresh air.

Finally, the rumbles ebbed, the dust settling. He laid face down, body bruised and aching for a long time, empty after his rampage.

He could taste blood in his mouth, the coppery tasting liquid prompting him to move again. Flexing his limbs, he was relieved to find nothing appeared broken, though he could feel one of his eyes already beginning to swell shut.

Staggering to his feet, he stumbled away from the cave in, one palm resting on the wall to ground himself as he went.

"Brilliant." he groaned, tripping over his own feet, his head slightly fuzzy from one hit too many.

A growl rumbled from his stomach, his body searching for nutrients so it could heal itself. Eyes searching the edges of the tunnel, he saw a ladder not far off and made his way towards it, feeding himself being his most pressing issue.

Wrapping his left hand around a rung, he leaned his forehead against the cool metal, allowing it to sooth the dull ache that had taken up residence on his face. Pulling back, he tried to bring his right hand up but winced as the motion caused his right shoulder to implode in fiery pain. His teeth grinded together at the feeling, his entire right arm essentially useless if he could not raise it. As the feeling receded, he looked up the ladder morosely, unsure he would be able to drag himself up.

Trying anyway, he used one hand and both feet to climb, his progress absurdly slow. When he finally reached the top, he realized he could not push aside the manhole cover above him without using his hand. Balancing precariously on his feet, he removed his left hand from the ladder and pushed the round metal piece aside, boosting himself over the edge.

It was fortunate the manhole was located on a road seldom used, he did not think being hit by a car was in his best interest right now. Getting to his feet awkwardly, he limped to the sidewalk, following its progression.

He was near the university, most of the houses around him belonging to fraternities or sororities. Maybe there was a party near by where he could grab dinner, that is if his injuries went unnoticed.

His sensitive ears caught the far off sound of people yelling excitedly and he altered his path, heading towards the noise. With any luck, he would be able to find someone passed out… he was not in any condition to chase his food.

Turning the next corner, he ran smack into a larger figure.

Stumbling back his eyes widened in alarm as he came face to face with a monstrous yellow demon.

"Oh shit, you okay?" the demon asked, groping at its face for a moment before pulling off… a mask?

'It's Halloween?' Spike whirled around, wondering how he had missed the signs. Carved pumpkins sat by most front doors and houses were decorated with plastic witches and werewolves. Perhaps his bender in Vegas had been a little over the top if he had been too hungover to notice the approaching holiday.

"You okay man?" the boy with the demon mask leaned closer, trying to inspect Spike's face.

The vampire sidestepped, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that mate." he moved passed the confused boy, cursing his own ignorance.

Demons never went out on Halloween, it was one of those unwritten rules that everyone seemed to follow. Aside from the fact it hurt most demon's dignity to see themselves so poorly represented, drinking the blood of a trick-or-treater was nasty. All that sugar sloshing around, it made most vampires want to hurl.

Spike considered returning to the sewers but he realized, with all the demons in hiding, it was probably safer for his battered self to be above ground. Besides, he now had nowhere to stay and he did not much fancy spending the night sleeping in stagnant sewage.

He would never be able to wash the stench from his now only set of clothes.

Moving farther into the land of hazing and beer pong, he became surrounded by more and more costumed people. Most of the costumes were piss poor in his opinion, though the slutty nurse attire some were sporting got his interest, he was a man who could appreciate classics.

A girl walking directly in front of him was talking to the boy by her side, "Matt, where is this party?" she asked.

"Alpha Delt," the boy responded, "They decked out the lower levels like a haunted house. You've got to go through to get to the party."

That piqued Spike's interest. A party at a haunted house would make it easy for him to grab someone, all the noise and light would be a perfect distraction. He followed the couple, using their silhouettes to hide his limp which had become rather pronounced.

When the couple paused outside the Alpha Delt house, Spike felt his head begin to swim at the notion of so many warm bodies gathered in one area. He made his way towards the entrance, positioning himself behind a small group of teens who were each dressed as different superheroes.

"Oh it looks scary." Wonder Woman was saying to Superman.

"Relax Tina." the red caped boy responded, throwing his arm around the girl.

Spike smirked to himself, the prospect of a kill giving him an extra boost of energy. Shadowing the group, he ignored most of the decorations. He had seen all sorts of horrors in his unlife, a few plastic skeletons waving knives were hardly what he considered hair raising.

'Now that', he thought, walking past a girl wearing so much makeup she appeared plastic, 'was terrifying.'

He had just reached the stairs leading to the upper floor when the noise from upstairs changed violently. The sour scent of fear suddenly converged on him, his tongue curling to dispel it. Ordinarily, he enjoyed the scent of terror, but then it was usually laced with arousal, his own preferred mix. Fear all on its own tasted like literal piss.

Several bodies came charging down the stairs, knocking him aside in their haste to escape. He grabbed the arm of a passing boy, halting him.

"What's gonin' on?" he asked.

The boy was shaking, "E-everything's come al-al-alive!" he wailed, soiling himself.

Spike leaped back in disgust, "Bloody pissed 'imself, the sod." he muttered moving out of the way as several more people bounded past him.

Everyone was wearing the same horrified expression, pushing and shoving as they tried to escape. Spike decided whatever was going on was not really his cup of tea. He retraced his steps towards the entrance, wondering what that one boy had meant about 'everything coming alive'. Someone knocked into him from behind and he grunted in pain, his shoulder jarred. He tried to increase his speed but his injured leg refused to cooperate with the rest of him.

"Nearly there- where's the door?" Spike stopped short, staring at the patch of wall that had been a door only ten minutes ago.

"Where's the door?" a dreadfully familiar voice echoed from behind him.

"No soddin' way my luck is this bad." he muttered, turning and confronting the group behind him.

The group stopped short as he turned, eyes widening. It was the Scooby Gang, minus one rather pompous librarian.

"You?" Buffy and Spike said at the same time.

Buffy could not believe, here of all places, was Spike. During the last week she had not heard anything about him, not even from other vamps. It had been easy for her to hide their last encounter somewhere deep in her head, near where the remains of Parker were buried.

Studying him, she was surprised at the terrible shape he was in. Bits of debris covered his shoulders and head, turning his already pale hair pure white. A massive bruise covered the left side of his face from forehead to cheek, the eye so swollen she could not make out his iris. His right arm was stiff and curled around his stomach, the shoulder hunched with pain. Questions jostled one another in her head, trying to be let out.

"Why are you here?" she finally asked, her tone sharper than she had anticipated.

She had noticed Spike never reacted well to hostility, the angrier her voice, the snarkier he became. Tonight was no exception, she could already see his eye flaming at her tone.

"None of your business." he smirked, the bad boy effect diminished by how thrashed he looked.

Xander glared at Spike, he always seemed braver when she was around, Buffy noted wryly.

"What happened to you? Harmony throw you out?" he asked.

The attack was too fast to track, even with her heightened Slayer abilities. One moment everyone was still and the next Spike had Xander pinned on the floor, the button from his tux rolling away as it was ripped off.

"Watch how you speak to me." Spike snarled, his face centimeters from Xander's.

Buffy jerked her crossbow from where it had been concealed in her Red Riding Hood basket, "Let him go or you're dust." she said, not even a tremble in her voice.

Spike looked over his shoulder haughtily, not perturbed by the crossbow, "Naughty naughty Spike, attacking the bloke who makes fun of him. Honestly." he rolled off Xander, glaring at her, "Your double standard astounds me."

"Why because I don't let you eat my friends?" she asked sarcastically, not lowering her weapon.

The vampire rolled his eyes and got back to his feet awkwardly, leaning against the wall for support, "Because you let them get away with whatever they want. If I had a go at you about Floppy Hair, you'd punch me in the face again but it's okay if your friends do it."

Buffy stared at him, trying to ignore his accusation. Xander might have trouble keeping his mouth shut but he was not cruel… not intentionally at least. Spike seemed to get off on it, making other people feel like crap. It was completely different. Right?

"Just get of here." she signed, allowing the crossbow to hang loosely at her side. Xander looked as though he was going to protest but the look she shot his way silenced him.

"I would but in case its missed your noticed THERE'S NO BLOODY DOOR!" his voice echoed around the hall, making Willow jump.

Oz wrapped his arm around her, his brow furrowed, "Maybe everyone should just relax." he said softly.

Buffy groaned. The situation, which had seemed to manageable without Spike's unwanted appearance, was now teetering on the edge of out of control. They had to escape here and get to Giles quickly so they could fix whatever the hell was going on.

"Okay, we're splitting up. Oz, Willow, and Xander, try to find a way out. Spike and I will try to get to the second floor and help anyone trapped." she said, ignoring the shocked looks she received in response.

"I'm not going with you." Spike said, laughing, "Evil remember? I don't do the saving people thing."

"You are this time." she said grimly, fingering the crossbow.

As much as she wished she could leave him behind, she knew he had probably come to the party with the intention of feeding. Besides, as much as she loved her friends, they made terrible vampire slayers against regular blood suckers. Spike, even injured, was powerful enough to fight.

His eyes glittered yellow at her threat, "If you wanted time alone together you could have just- HEY!" he yelped as she shot one of her bolts at him, grazing the side of his face.

Blood dribbled from the wound but he ignored it, staring at her wide eyed… er, it was really just one eye. Wide eye? Did that make sense? She would have to ask Giles later- Focus Buffy.

Shaking her head, she reloaded the crossbow casually, "Anyone else want to add something?" she asked.

"Nope, nothing." Xander said, grabbing Willow and Oz, "Right guys?"

"N-nothing. We're totally good. Crystal clear." Willow said, allowing herself to be dragged.

The three disappeared down the hall, footsteps fading. Buffy turned the opposite way, deliberately not acknowledging Spike, and made her way back to where the stairs had been. He followed, uneven gait slowing him down. She waited for him to begin harassing her, prepared to shoot him somewhere a little more painful.

Oddly, he remained subdued, keeping his distance. She resisted the urge to check on him, instead focusing on walking the expanding maze of hallways that seemed to have grown out of nowhere.

'There's no way this place is this big.' Buffy though as he opened yet another door and found herself in a place she did not recognize.

It took her awhile to realize Spike was no longer following behind her. Turning, she saw he was at the far end of the hallway, his head cocked like a dog's.

"C'mon, we need to get upstairs." she called, annoyed he had gotten distracted so easily.

He ignored her, still focused on something only he could hear. With a huff, Buffy retraced her steps, coming up next to the vampire.

"Seriously, what's up?" she asked.

His gaze drifted down to meet hers, blue eye glazed over, "What?"

She nudged him, hard, "Stop fooling around!"

"M'not." he murmured, still distracted.

He was beginning to seriously wig her out. Ordinarily, it was impossible to get the vampire to shut up. She wondered if his head had been injured, her eyes raking across the back of his head. Underneath the fine layer of debris, his hair was disheveled, some curls having escaped their confines.

It bothered her, seeing his hair so uncomposed. No matter how beaten he had been, broken back, completely wasted, his hair had always been tightly controlled. It was a constant, just as he had been the last two years. Absently, she reached up, trying to flatten the wayward pieces.

His hair was soft, surprising her. She had expected it to be brittle from all the gel and peroxide he used, but instead the curls bounced gently against her touch. She did not expect Spike to jerk away from her, the vampire stumbling in his haste to put distance between them.

"What-what are you doin'?" he asked, tense.

Buffy blinked in surprise, his strong reaction hurting her though she did not know why. She knew she had become much more sensitive to rejection since Parker, even going so far as to lie to get out of dates the last week. Spike was not someone she would date, he was not even someone she liked, so why did it hurt just as much?

"I was just… some of your hair was all curly and I…" she trailed off, unable to explain what had happened.

Spike was still wary, unconsciously hunched in a defensive position, "Don't do that again." he said stonily.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, feeling as though she was crossing a line.

He did not answer immediately, sizing her up. Finally, he relented, "Back when Angel had no soul… he was a hair yanker."

"He… pulled your hair?" Buffy asked, puzzled.

Spike nodded hesitantly, "When he'd get angry, angry enough to kill… Angel liked being in control." he sighed and turned away from her, refusing to go on.

"Oh." Buffy said lamely, truly having no response.

"Let's keep goin'." he said abruptly, taking the lead and following the hallway.

Buffy hurried after him, not wanting to get lost in the labyrinth. She studied the vampire from behind, his duster hiding all but the back of his head. Spike rarely shared anything of his past, least of all with her. It was one of the things that made it so easy to push him around when she felt like it.

Thinking back to Xander's taunt and his reaction, she asked hesitantly, "Spike, Harmony did leave you didn't she?"

He did not even slow, though she could see his shoulders slump slightly, "Yeah her and everyone else I had excavatin' the tunnel."

"Why do you care? I thought you hated minions." her attempt at humor failed spectacularly as the vampire whirled to face her, an ugly expression marring his features.

"Vampire's are pack animals. We're supposed to wake up and spend the rest of our time on this soddin' planet with our sires. Ever wonder why you always find nests of us? It's in our nature to be among others of our kind." he snapped.

Buffy stopped short, the Slayer part of her sending alarms ringing as the angry vampire faced her. Pushing the instinct back, she swallowed, "But why Harmony? You didn't sire her." she reasoned.

Something akin to shame crossed Spike's bruised face and she found it difficult to meet his eye, "Why Parker? You didn't love him." he responded.

The words should have stirred a fire inside her. Instead, she felt relief. Her friends had assumed she had loved Parker and maybe in some way she had. Deep down, though, she knew she had been in love with what he represented… a normal life. The relief was crushed by distaste as she realized she had used Parker in much the same way Spike had used Harmony.

"It's not the same." she said definitely, so not wanting to have this in common.

"You're right, it's not. I'm a vampire, a monster. What's your excuse?" he asked darkly.

She lurched back as though he had struck her, rage boiling within her, "You're right. You are a monster." she snarled, shoving him aside as she continued down the hall, not caring whether or not he followed.

When she heard his muted steps on the carpeted floor, she increased her pace, hoping his limp was enough to slow him down. Choosing a door at random, she wrenched it open and stepped forward… into emptiness.

Falling into the pit, she felt something heavy slam into her in midair, driving the air from her lungs. Bracing for the hard hit she anticipated, it never happened. Instead she landed on something soft and yielding, something that was cursing viciously.

"Spike?" she asked, scrambling away from the vampire turned mattress.

The man was writhing on the floor, gasping in pain.

Crawling to his side, she placed a hand on his shoulder, withdrawing it hurriedly when he howled in agony at the contact. Remembering his injuries from earlier, she felt her stomach sink.

"I'm sorry." she said softly, not daring to touch him again.

His movements subside, leaving him spread eagle and panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he sucked in air unnecessarily, "W-where are we?" he groaned, eyes closed.

Buffy looked around, taking stock of their surroundings for the first time. A collection of cardboard headstones littered the floor, all with different gag inscriptions. The boiler in the corner was on, rumbling gently.

"Basement. We're in the basement." she said aloud, looking for a way out.

A raspy laugh sounded from the darkness.

"All alone." the voice said.

"Who's there?" Buffy called, reaching behind her for Spike. She needed to get them out of here, and fast.

A corpse stepped out from the shadows, head dangling from a broken neck, "They all ran away from you. They always will. Open your heart to someone and…" he weazed another laugh.

Behind Buffy, Spike was rolling into a crouch, his left hand wrapping around her shoulder to steady himself.

The corpse seemed to finally notice the vampire, "Well, mostly alone." he amended, "But don't fret, little girl."

More hands were on her and Buffy looked down in terror, seeing arms and heads begin to unearth themselves. She scrambled backwards helplessly even as the hands gripped her and tried to drag themselves further out.

Suddenly she was being lifted in the air and encompassed by the scent of leather.

"Spike!" she yelled in relief, not even caring he was carrying her bridal style.

As he moved away from the slowly unearthing zombies, the corpse laughed, "Don't think your immune, vampire. I show people what they fear the most. I wonder what haunts that platinum head of yours."

Buffy shivered, searching frantically for an exit. Noticing a set of stairs that lead nowhere, she saw a door underneath.

"Spike, under the stairs." she gasped, not wanting to see what Spike's greatest fear was, she was sure it would be have to be horrific.

"Too late." the corpse laughed and snapped his fingers.

A figure grew out of the earth floor between them and the door, slowly taking shape. As the dust settles, Buffy realized it was a Victorian woman, hair grey with age.

Spike froze, not even his chest moving and Buffy looked to him in confusion. He was afraid of an old woman?

The woman began to speak, her voice cracking with age, "William, my dear William, what have you done?" she asked.

Spike began to tremble, his entire body quivering, "No." he breathed, good eye aglow in horror.

She came closer, her tattered dress trailing in the dirt, "They tell me you're a killer. But I tell them, my precious William? He is no killer, he is a poet."

Buffy looked at the vampire holding her. He was shaking so violently she was afraid he would drop her. Disentangling herself from his grasp, she dropped to the floor and turned back to the woman.

Her face suddenly vamped out, cruelty etched in every line, "But then I remember. I remember what my dear William did. How he made me evil for his own gain. Monster."

At her final word, the vampire dropped to his knees and Buffy was aghast to see agony splayed across his features, tears streaming.

"No. Please stop." he whispered brokenly, "I-I didn't mean it. I didn't know!" he wailed, sobbing freely.

Buffy grasped his good shoulder, trying to snap him out of his nightmare. She did not notice the zombies had disappeared along with the corpse.

"Monster!" the old woman spat again, delighted at the effect she was having, "And everyone knows it. You're all alone. No one wants you." she sneered.

Refusing to leave Spike, Buffy did something that she was certain she would regret for the rest of her life. Grasping onto the vampire's hair, she jerked him violently to his feet. His reaction was instantaneous, yielding to her with a startled gasp.

She felt sick, his words about Angel's form of punishment taking on much darker meaning.

"Oh God. Spike, I'm sorry." she whispered even as she half led half dragged him towards the door.

The old woman continued yelling insults, laughing maniacally as Buffy managed to wrench open the door and force the two of them through.

The laughing abruptly cut off and Buffy looked up, surrounded by terrified teens in Halloween costumes. Everything was wrecked, tables overturned and food spilled on the floor. Releasing her grip on Spike, she looked at the vampire worriedly.

His good eye was glazed over, face lax.

"Spike?" she asked, getting no response.

He remained on the floor, curling into himself and staring off. Looking around helplessly, Buffy spotted Oz crouched not far away, his head buried in his hands.

"Oz?" she asked, not moving from Spike's side.

Willow burst in at that moment, slapping and scratching at herself, "Get them off me! Get them off me!" she screeched, dancing around.

Oz was beside her in a flash, wrapping his arm around her, "Will."

Willow remained hysterical "C-couldn't...get them… off." she dissolved into a sobbing mess.

"It's okay. We're okay." Oz tried to sooth her, running his hand up and down her arm.

"We're not okay. We have to get out of here." Buffy disagreed, glancing back at Spike.

The vampire was now standing, though his face remained strangely empty. He was staring at Xander, who was sitting by himself, muttering.

Buffy crossed the room and shoved her friend, "What is wrong with you?" she asked.

Xander looked up in amazement, "Y-you heard that? You can see me? Good. Oh God, that's good."

"The house separated us. It wanted to scare us." Oz said, still holding Willow.

The witch had begun to calm, though her face remained splotchy, "But we… we got away."

"No." a voice said sharply, "It brought us here."

Buffy felt relief as Spike spoke. Turning to him, she quelled under his savage glare, his teeth bared.

"Oh Spike, you're still here? I was so hoping Buffy would dust you." Xander taunted, relief making him sarcastic.

The vampire's gaze switched to Xander, the poison in his eyes making the boy physically wilt, "Actually, I saved her life you ungrateful fuck!" he snarled.

"Knock it off Xander." Buffy said. She expected for Spike to relax but instead his gaze darkened.

"Don't need you to fight my battles Slayer." he curled his lip in disgust.

"Hey guys, this symbol looks… evil." Oz said, looking down at the floor.

The two combatants both looked down, seeing the massive sigil painted on the floor.

"I saw them painting it. They were copying it out of…" Xander scanned the room before pointing at a book, "That!" he said excitedly.

Willow, being closest, picked up the book and scanned the pages, "I think this is Gaelic." she said,

"Can you translate?" Buffy asked just as banging and pounding filled the room, the wall quaking, "Will, give me something!" she yelled.

"I-I don't know the language well enough." Willow said hollowly.

The book was wrenched from her grasp, Spike looking at the pages, "I speak Gaelic." he said, eye narrowing, "The icon's the Mark of Gachnar. This thing," he gestured to the sigil, "Is part of a summoning spell for Gachnar. Some ponce must have activated the beginning of the spell. This bloke is trying to manifest 'imself."

"How?" Buffy asked.

Spike flipped the page, "Feeds on fear. It's been showing us our worst fears to get stronger."

"We have to stop being afraid." Buffy reasoned aloud.

"Well if we close our eyes and say it's all just a dream it'll stab us to death. These things are real!" Xander said, the walls giving another shudder.

"If we can get everyone out…" Buffy began but was cut off as the doors slam open and closed in warning.

Xander rushed towards the door, yanking it open, "Great plan! Let's go!" He jerked back with a scream as a man wielding a chainsaw appeared on the other side.

"Giles? Look, it's Giles! With a chainsaw…" Xander said as Anya appeared from behind the librarian and hugged him hard.

Giles looked around, taking in the seal and the book still clutched in Spike's grasp. He faltered as he noticed the vampire, "Spike?" he asked but Buffy cut across him.

"Not the time Giles." she said, taking the book from the vampire and handing it to the librarian.

He looked at the opened page, "Gachnar, of course. Its presence infects-"

This time it was Spike who cut off the former Watcher, "Already covered that bit. How do we stop the ceremony?" he asked.

"Oh, I have it!" Giles exclaimed, "The summoning spell for Gachnar can be shut down in one of two ways. Destroying the Mark of Gachnar…"

Buffy dropped to her knees suddenly, punching through the center of the mark.

Giles groaned and continued, "is NOT one of them and will, in fact, immediately bring forth the Fear Demon, itself." he finished peevishly, annoyed at the constant interruptions.

The entire house shook, Spike losing his footing as his injured leg gave out, refusing to take any more abuse. Watching in horror, the others were mesmerized as Gachnar appeared from the center of the mark.

Twisted horns appeared as the leather adorned demon rose, hands raised. His skin was mottled, metal bars sticking out from his grotesque face. He began to speak but broke off, looking at the others in horror.

"This… is Gachnar?" Buffy stared down uncomprehendingly on the, albeit scary, three inch tall demon.

"Big overture, little show." Xander offered, curious.

Buffy wanted to laugh with relief, the tiny demon coupled with the stress of the last hour making her giddy. As the others commented on the demon, she looked around for Spike. Regardless of her feelings for the vampire, he had saved her in the basement… twice. The haunted look on his face as the elderly woman had abused him had not left her. She felt terrible too for using the hair trick on him. He had told her about it in confidence, the first personal thing he had shared with her. And she had used it against him.

"Spike-" she broke off, the vampire absent from the room already.

Ignoring her friends exclamations, she bolted from the room, suddenly desperate to apologize to the vampire. It occurred to her that, before tonight, they had been enemies. But he had not treated her like one tonight. She had a feeling if she let him disappear, she would never see that side of him again.

Bursting outside, she dodged around the people milling around, searching desperately for a flash of leather. A lone figure was making its way away from her, limping so badly he looked deformed.

"Spike!" she yelled, sprinting after him.

The vampire did not stop, though his pace slowed enough to allow her to catch up.

"Spike, wait." she said, breathless.

His eye was hard as he surveyed her, "What?" he asked.

"I- I just wanted to apologize for tonight. You know, for shooting you and… the hair thing and stuff." she said, knowing how inadequate her words were.

He remained impassive, not looking moved, "That all?" he asked, sounding bored.

Buffy nodded, not expecting forgiveness for her behavior, "Yeah."

He nodded to himself, moving on at the same slow pace.

"Wait!" Buffy called as one last question came to her, the old woman.

Spike turned and looked at her, his gaze suddenly vulnerable. He knew exactly what she was going to ask. And she knew he was going to lie. Whatever fragile trust they had built had been ruined. She had not earned the right to know his nightmares.

"Just… don't do something stupid and make me stake you." she said, a false smile in place.

He gave one back, the bruises on his face twisting grotesquely, "Can't make any promises. Monster, remember?" and he shambled off, swallowed by darkness.

Buffy watched, forlorn, "No. You're not." she whispered.

Watching him retreat, she chewed on her lip. Something in their dynamic had changed tonight and she was not sure what to do with it. He had saved her, not because doing so furthered his own end, but had done it instinctively.

She thought back to when she was falling, how he had taken the hit for her even though he was injured. He had been a completely different person and it occurred to her that maybe, for the first time, she was seeing who he used to be.


	3. Hot and Cold

Spike stalked down the alley between two food joints, growling. For the better part of the last month, he had been down at the cave in, trying to rescue his possessions from the blanket of rocks that had buried them. Four soddin' weeks of hauling pieces of stone sometimes as large as he and all he had to show for it was his CD collection.

The streets of the business district were nearly deserted this late at night which was a good thing for Sunnydale. It was a terrible for him though, his rumbling stomach reminding him he had not been eating regularly.

His life had taken a drastic shift for the worse since Halloween, which was saying something considering before that he had been holed up with Harmony in literal Hell. After his old hideout had proved to be uninhabitable even for him, he had tried to find a new place to stay. The search had proved to be fruitless, ever since he had collapsed that highway with his digging a bunch of construction workers had begun spending hours in the tunnels. He had heard a rumor they intended to replace the tunnel system with new materials, meaning that many demons and vamps had moved out.

This had led to an absurd amount of crowding in the local cemeteries, where nearly every crypt was inhabited. Fights broke out commonly as demons fought over who got to stay where, those who could pass as humans even taking up residence in the local motels for cheap. The sudden influx meant, short of buying literal property, Spike was homeless for the foreseeable future.

Another, even worse, change was, with so many demons now amassed in the center of town, it was nearly impossible to feed. A vampire would find a meal and get into a fight with three or four others over who saw it first. When the blood bank truck came to town, it was not so much robbed as it was demolished, the fights becoming so violent that anything in their path was annihilated.

Spike was, predictably, often in the midst of the fights. At first it had been perfect, every night bringing him a new opponent. But soon he had found the constant brawling to be more trouble than it was worth. His excitement in fighting came from the challenge, not the sheer brutality of the action. He was not Angelus.

He remembered back in England, when Dru had still been with him. They would go out to feed or dance or whatever the hell they felt like and choose someone. He would study them, learn all there was to know about how they moved, how they flowed. And then, he would step into a gory dance.

Sometimes it was a salsa, all fast movement and over quickly. Other times it was more of a waltz, every move and counter-strike carefully planned out. And on very rare, very special occasions, it was a ballroom dance. The balance then was so delicate, so intimate, that a single misstep would send the whole thing crashing down.

It was the dance of the Slayers.

He kicked at a stone, sending it spinning away from him as he growled. In the last month he had seen little of Buffy or her friends. He had sensed during their little adventure at the haunted house party that something had changed between them. Rather, something had changed for her. Because Spike did not think anything different of the bint. She was still the Slayer and he was the Slayer of Slayers.

He knew the scene in the basement between himself and his… Anyway, she had seen him at his absolute weakest and he loathed it. They were enemies, plain and simple, and it enraged him to know she had been privy to something so personal.

The night had left something raw within him, a hole that threatened to swallow his being. Most of his early memories of being a vampire had been stored away, locked deep inside somewhere. The breaking of that lock had brought forth a surge of darkness.

The only good to come of it was the memories had weakened William's grip on him significantly. He could still feel the ponce though, sobbing and screaming in anguish and, if he was not careful, those same emotions would crawl outwards, numbing his body and mind.

"Get a grip." he muttered aloud, reaching the end of the alley.

Several neighborhoods sprawled before him and, beyond that, was the small forest where his DeSoto was hidden. He had been sleeping in his car. Every demon in town knew the vehicle and none were foolhardy enough to mess with it. The sunrise was only a few hours away so he made his way towards the woods, cutting through several backyards on South Road to save some time.

The wind blew, harsh enough for even the vampire to pull his coat around him in protection. Such cold weather was rare for southern California but, as Thanksgiving approached, the temperature had begun to drop alarmingly.

His eyes watered as the wind continued and he huddled in his duster, pulling the collar up high. By the time he reached his car, he was shivering, his numb hands fumbling with the keys to unlock the door.

One of the reasons Spike had come to this particular Hellmouth to heal Dru had been the weather. He had never been one for the cold even as a human so traveling to one of the warmest ones had been ideal.

Continuing to shake, he hunkered down in the backseat, drawing several ragged blankets over himself as he curled up tightly, trying to preserve the body heat he lacked. This was one of the other effects of not eating regularly, he was cold through and through. Human blood was all nice and warm in the stomach and the feeling would spread out as the fresh blood traveled through his own veins.

He considered turning on the car just to get the heater running but decided against it. The gas money had given out last week and a running car was sure to draw people towards the woods. His best option was to simply stick it out. He had been alive over a century, what did one cold day matter in the grand scheme of things?

Putting his freezing hands between his thighs for warmth, he decided it mattered a whole damn lot.

"I-I hope the Sl-Slayer bitch is th-this miserable." he snarled, the idea of her out in the cold in those skimpy teen clothes she always wore taking his mind off the cold as he fell into an uneasy sleep.  
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Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows weakly, peeking from between the blinds. As it grew, it climbed farther into the room, finally settling on a sleeping Buffy. Her nose twitched though she did not wake, instead rolling over and burying her head underneath the blankets.

The screeching of an alarm clock killed the tranquility of the room, Willow jerking awake and turning the device off as Buffy groaned and peaked out from her warm cocoon blearily.

"Do we have to get up?" she groaned.

Willow stepped into her slippers and shivered, "No. Unless you want an education and a good job and money and stuff." she smiled.

The blonde groaned again, pulling the blanket off her head, "Why are you so realistic?" she asked grumpily. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, flinching as her feet came into contact with the cold floor, "Why is it so cold?"

Willow was brushing her teeth at the sink. Spitting, she replied, "The weatherman said this cold snap will break in a few more days. Then it will get all sunny again!"

"I hate Slaying in the cold." Buffy stood and stretched, making her way to the closet, "And with all the vamps suddenly in town, I have to stay out all night."

"Did Giles figure out why the mass migration?" Willow asked.

Buffy shook her head, pulling her pajamas off quickly and diving into fresh clothes, "Not yet. It's not good though. If it weren't for the fact they all fight over their food, a lot more people would be dead."

She finished getting ready in silence, lost in thought. Vampires fed more often during the cold, though she was not sure why. Giles had looked into it but the Watcher Council had no information on the behavior. Couple that with every demon deciding to stay in town, attacks were happening more often, occasionally even during the day from the bolder demons.

Every night for the last week she had dusted at least a dozen vamps, hardly making a dent in the population. Even the University had noticed, issuing warnings about staying out after dark because of "gang related activities,"

"Buffy? We're going to be late to Psych." Willow was standing by the door, her satchel over her shoulder.

"Huh. Oh." Buffy grabbed her own bag and shook her head.

Today was the last official school day before Thanksgiving break started so of course their Psych teacher had assigned a massive test. Buffy's marks in the class were not bad, laudable even, but the thought of an hour long test made her want to go back to bed.

"I wonder what will be on it?" Willow asked as the two settled in their seats, pulling out her textbook, "I reread most of chapters one through eight but maybe some chapter nine stuff will be covered even though-"

"Willow, you're seriously wigging me out right now." Buffy said edgily, wishing she had studied the previous day.

"Oh, sorry. I just get so excited-" Willow's voice faded as the professor walked in, a middle aged woman with long dark hair tied up in a ponytail.

"Good morning everyone." she said as she set her briefcase down on the front desk of the lecture hall with a dull thud.

A "Good morning Professor Glendry." issued from most of the students in a dull rumble.

She looked up at the class, amusement lurking behind full lips, "What has everyone so down today? Surely this isn't about the test." she said.

A few people laughed, though most remained stony. Buffy began to panic again as the mention of the test. In high school, she had not actually sat many exams - the whole vampire thing kinda took precedence over petty things like an education or a future.

Her apprehension was shared by many, several students around her had become ashen enough to look sick.

Professor Glendry took in the reaction before relenting, "Actually, I think we'll not be doing the test today." she paused as relieved sighs rippled through the room.

Buffy looked up in amazement. It was too good to be true… it had to be. Nothing this fortunate ever happened to her when she was at school.

"Instead," the professor continued, "I have a little activity for you all that will serve as a nice entrance into our next chapter on Behavioral Psychology which is where we will pick up after break."

Removing a stack of papers from her briefcase, she handed them to the first row and slowly they moved towards the back. When Buffy received hers, she glanced over it curiously. The paper had only a set of questions, each one with a blank space underneath for answering.

"Does everyone have the worksheet?" the Professor asked. At the chorus of 'yes' she received, she continued, "So Behavioral Psychology is the idea that all behaviors are acquired through conditioning. It cannot be used to explain emotions and such, only observable behaviors, something we will be covering later on in the semester.

"This worksheet will be the basis for a little project I have developed that will carry us through to final exams. It ties in with nearly everything we have done thus far in class and I believe will be rather enjoyable. I'm sure most of you have noticed all the personal questions on the worksheets? You are going to spend today filling them out."

Predictably, the class's reaction was mixed. The more introverted students looked as though they had been issued a death sentence while the more outgoing ones had already begun to fill out the sheet.

"Now hold up a moment." she said, "I did not say for whom you were filling out these sheets."

The class froze, everyone's attention suddenly back on her, "To make this a little more challenging, I want you to pick someone you know personally who you are not close to. Answer the questions for that person. Eventually, you will be building a character profile of this person so please choose carefully. In order to remain professional, I ask that you do not share the name of your subject to anyone else in the room."

The class dissolved into discussion, Buffy looking at Willow in confusion, "So, we have to choose someone we don't know well and answer personal questions about them?" she asked.

Willow was reading through the questions, lips pursed, "I guess the idea is you learn more about the person through observations and applied theories rather than direct interactions."

Buffy blinked, "So… we'll get to know more about someone without actually talking to them? That's a little… weird."

"It does seem invasive." Willow agreed, "But I guess that's why there's no name sharing."

The witch had already begun to fill out her sheet and Buffy leaned over to see better, "Who did you choose?"

Willow whisked her paper out of sight with a mock frown on her face, "Nope. Not telling." she said.

"Oh c'mon, what's the big deal?" Buffy asked.

Professor Glendry's voice cut through the racket of the other students, the room quieting.

"I don't remember saying this was group work." the professor said dryly.

Suitably chastised, the class began working again, the only sound the scratching of pencils against paper. Buffy looked down at her own paper, reading the first question.

1.) What is the gender of your subject?

She tapped her pencil against the edge of the desk, unsure of who to pick. Her first thought had been Willow or Xander but somehow it seemed too personal to analysis one of her friends in this way. That was probably why they had been told to choose someone they did not know well, it made answering the questions easier.

Casting a quick glance around the room, she realized she was the only one not writing. This was supposed to be the easy part and already she was struggling! Mentally, she began to list people who she could use for the project.

Anyone from high school was majorly out, she never wanted to think about that place again, and most of the people she had known from Los Angeles had faded from her memory entirely.

Her thoughts, unbidden, returned to the Halloween party. For the last month, every time her thoughts wandered, she was always thrust back into that night. She had tried to figure out who the woman Spike had been so terrified of was, even going so far as to look through some of Giles' books for information. Most of what was written about Spike, however, talked only of his time as a vampire. It seemed nothing was really known of his past life aside from his first name.

She had been terrified when he had broken down, his actions so human-like that her first instinct had been to protect him. He had been avoiding her ever since. Several times during her patrols she had seen him but he was always quick to escape, vanishing before she could get close enough to talk.

The entire thing had become troublesome. Spike was still a vampire and an evil one at that. When he had gotten the Gem of Amarra, he had been fully prepared to kill her, she knew. Only his own twisted belief in a fair fight had saved her from a much more dangerous encounter, one she was not entirely sure she could have won given her emotional state at the time.

Then, next time they met he was trying to protect her.

A morbid part of her wondered if he had only tried to save her because he wanted to kill her on his own terms. It seemed like something he would do, preserve her until the perfect moment. Despite that, she could not believe that had been his only motivation.

She had not told anyone else about the scene in the basement, knowing she had betrayed the vampire's trust once with the hair pulling thing.

Frowning, she replayed that moment in her head when she had grabbed his hair.

At the time, she had paid it no mind, her focus entirely devoted to saving the two of them. Looking back on it, she realized that the action had frozen the vampire. He had become docile, allowing her to drag him away without making a sound. It had been like leading a small child by the hand, he had not even hesitated.

He had said Angel used it for control, it made her shutter. From what she had read of Spike's life with Angel, the two had clashed repeatedly despite being related through the sire line. The blonde vampire had been more rambunctious than his grandsire, always in a state of frenzied motion during those early years.

After Angel had regained his soul and abandoned the others, Spike seemed to have calmed. He had still caused massive amounts of damage across Europe and America but there had been more control in his actions, as though he was not simply destroying everything in his path. There were entire decades with little mention of him or Drusilla aside from small incidents which the books she had found barely noted.

She had never really thought of the dynamic between the two male vampires. Soulless Angel had been a monster, relishing in torturing others. After seeing it first hand, she could not imagine Spike had been spared the harsher side of Angel's personality.

'He wanted control'.

The words bounced around her skull, making her stomach churn in discomfort. There was so little she knew about the blond vampire, aside from the fact he was...well, a vampire. And before, that had been enough, she had not wanted to know more.

But now?

Her gaze returned to the paper before her. Unconsciously, she wrote male underneath the first question.

The action broke a dam somewhere inside of her. She began filling out the rest of the sheet feverishly, searching for answers to the questions presented.

Once she had finished, she looked over the paper critically.

1\. Gender of subject.

\- Male

2\. Age of subject.

\- 28 (there were several erasure marks around the number)

3\. How would you describe the temperament of your subject?

\- He is short tempered and aggressive, a hit first and ask questions later kind of guy

4\. How would you describe the past/present romantic relationship(s) of your subject?

\- He has had one long lasting relationship where he was utterly devoted to his partner. The feeling was not mutual. More recently, he had another relationship that was built more on… other stuff (more erasure marks).

5\. Is your subject more of an optimist or a pessimist?

\- I think more of an optimist, though he throws temper tantrums when he does not get his way which is kinda pessimistic I guess. Is there a word for someone in the middle?

6\. Does you subject lean more towards being extroverted or introverted?

\- Extroverted I guess, he loves to be the center of attention whenever possible.

7\. What is your subject's relationship with his/her parents?

\- I don't know… he doesn't talk about that stuff.

8\. Does your subject have any hobbies?

\- Does causing mayhem count? Otherwise, I think he writes poetry or something like that.

9\. How does your subject feel about him/herself?

\- He adores himself… it's kinda disgusting.

10\. Why did you choose this person as your subject?

Well (illegible marks) he's so. I wanted to learn more. He's a (more erasure marks) He's recently showed a different side of himself and (question left incomplete).

Buffy sighed and looked around the classroom, surprised to find it nearly completely empty aside from herself, Willow, and a handful of other students. Looking at her friend's paper, she noticed Willow had much longer answers than she did.

Professor Glendry seemed to notice her uncertain look, "Finished Miss. Summers?" she asked pleasantly.

Buffy nodded and got up, gathering her belongings. Making her way down the stairs to the front of the room, she paused before her teacher.

"Um… are we supposed to hand these in or…" she trailed off.

The professor smiled, "I told the class to bring them up to me once they were finished but you were so focused on working, I guess you did not hear me."

Buffy blushed, feeling her cheeks warm, "Oh! I'm sorry." she said.

"It's quite alright. You were working hard, which is the whole point of this project. If the answers come easy to you, you're not thinking hard enough. Now, let's take a look at your paper."

Buffy handed it over and stood awkwardly while the older woman looked over her answers. She wished she had written more or chosen someone else or something.

"Well Miss. Summers, it seems you are not particularly fond of your subject." Professor Glendry said as she handed the paper back.

"Well no… I mean, I didn't before and now…" she trailed off, frustrated.

The Professor smiled sympathetically, "The fact you are so mixed about your subject is good. Perhaps through this project, you will understand your own feelings better as well as his. That's all for now, you are free to go."

Buffy nodded dazedly, walking out of the classroom with the paper clutched tightly in her grasp. She had not meant to write about Spike, it had just kind of happened. The more questions she had answered, the more she wanted to know. Besides, it did not feel like such an invasion of privacy to use him instead of one of her friends. After all, he had been dead for over a century, she doubted he still cared about his past.

An image of the elderly woman taunting the sobbing vampire dragged itself to the forefront of her brain. She shook it off nervously, the encounter still leaving her off balanced.

"Buffy!" a voice called from behind her and she turned sharply, only to see Willow rushing to catch up with her.

"Oh! Willow, I'm sorry I left like that. I just got all... distracted." she finished lamely.

The witch did not take offense however, the two making their way back to the dorms, "Oh, it's okay. I got so engrossed in answering the questions I just lost track of everything."

"Yeah. But we don't have to worry about that stuff for a whole week! We are officially on break now." Buffy smiled and drove the subject of her project far into her mind.

The two chatted casually, making their way across the lawn. While the sun had burned off some of the incessant chill, it was still freezing outside. Hardly anyone lingered outdoors like normal, everyone seeking refuge inside.

When the two reached the dorms, they were greeted by a blast of warm air. Sighing in contentment, the two made their way to the second floor, dodging students carting large suitcases as they prepared to leave for the break.

"It's a shame about your mom going away for Thanksgiving this year." Willow commented as she laid on her bed and stretched.

"I thought you hated the holiday?" Buffy asked, sitting on her own bed.

"I do! It's just not fair that some people get to go home and some don't." the red head defended.

Buffy sighed, "I'm going to miss it, the roasting turkey and stuff. It was always something to look forward to."

"Now comfort food I'm all for." Willow looked at the ceiling dreamily, missing the concerned look Buffy shot her.

Ever since Oz had left town, Willow had been acting strangely. She had been trying to keep up appearances, perky as always but when she thought no one was looking, she seemed to draw up into herself.

If anyone needed to spend Thanksgiving with their family it was Will. And if she did not get along with her own family, then maybe…

"We could do it you know." Buffy said, standing and beginning to pace.

"What, have Thanksgiving?" Willow asked, sitting up.

"I bet Giles doesn't have any plans. And Xander usually flees most of his family gatherings." she said, warming up to her idea.

Willow nodded excitedly, "Where would we have it?"

"Probably at Giles', I don't think my mom would approve of us messing up her kitchen while she was away." Buffy said happily, already moving towards the phone, "And this way we don't get stuck with all the cleaning!"

"Your mother is leaving tonight right?" Willow asked.

Buffy nodded, dialing Giles, "Yeah. I'm going to see her tonight and then do a quick patrol."  
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A suitcase sat on Joyce's bed, half filled with clothes and toiletries. Buffy perched beside it, legs crossed, watching her mother remove more clothes from her closet.

"It's nice you and your friends are having Thanksgiving together." she commented, putting another armload in her suitcase before zipping it closed.

"We figured it would be good to teach Giles more American customs." Buffy replied brightly.

"How was your final day before break?" she asked, picking up the suitcase and walking out of the room.

Buffy followed, the two making their way into the living room, "It was okay I guess, no major test or anything. We have a big project in Psychology though."

Sitting side by side on the couch, Joyce looked her daughter over critically, "Oh? What kind of project?"

"It's like a character profiling thing. Basically, we had to choose someone we did not know well and answer a bunch of questions about them."

"Sounds fun." Joyce smiled.

Buffy did not return the look, chewing on her lip. All day, the project had been bugging her.

"Buffy? Are you okay?" her mother asked, concerned.

"Oh yeah. It's just… Mom, can people change?" she asked, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.

All day her thoughts had revolved around Spike. She had tried to look at him the enemy but then she would remember Halloween and how it obviously did not fit his pattern of behavior.

"Buffy, is this about a boy?" Joyce asked, shuttering as she thought of Angel.

"Not that way! I mean, it is a guy." Buffy said frantically.

Her mother looked nervous, "Angel?"

Buffy looked horror-struck, "No way! That's totally over. Actually it's, well do you remember Spike?"

Joyce nodded, "Oh yes! He visited last year. Did he ever get back together with… what was her name?"

"Oh no, they're over… permanently." Buffy said.

"It's a shame. He seemed completely devoted to her. But I thought you were not fond of Spike?" Joyce asked.

"That's the whole thing though… I-I'm not but…"

Slowly, the story of what happened during Halloween was told. When Buffy reached the vampire sobbing in the basement, Joyce gasped, covering her mouth.

"My goodness, the poor boy." she said sympathetically.

Buffy shifted, uncomfortable with the way her mother spoke about Spike. Her tone was far kinder than when she had talked about Angel.

"Um… yeah. It was brutal." the younger Summers admitted.

"Is he okay?" Joyce asked, her maternal instincts firing.

"Well, I haven't actually seen him since it happened. He's been avoiding me I think." Buffy said, thinking back to the few glimpses she had caught of the vampire.

"I see." Joyce was thinking, face furrowed in a frown.

"Because we're not friends or anything. I mean, that's the first thing he's ever done for me." Nothing was making sense.

"Why do you think he did it?" her mother asked.

"I don't know. I'm not sure he knows." she said.

Joyce reached out, settling her hand on her daughter's arm, "Maybe you should ask." she said softly.

Buffy sighed in frustration, "It's not that simple!"

"Why?"

"Because we're… because he's… ugh!" Buffy flopped back, defeated, "What do I do?"

Joyce withheld a smile, knowing showing amusement would only alienate her daughter, "Well, maybe you should invite him over for Thanksgiving."

Buffy sat back up, "A world of no! The others don't trust him and-"

Joyce cut across her, "But this isn't about them. It's about you. Buffy, people do change. The key is finding out why."

"I never wanted any of this, not the Slayer or vampire crap." she said forlornly.

"Maybe Spike didn't either. Maybe that's why he's changed." Joyce said carefully.

Buffy sighed, "It's late. I'd better head back to the college now."

"Okay. Don't forget you can borrow anything you need from here to cook." Joyce said, hugging Buffy as she made her way towards the door.

"Have a good time on your trip." Buffy smiled and let herself out, stepping into the cold with a shudder.

She loved her mother, but inviting Spike to Thanksgiving? Absolutely no way! Giles would have an aneurysm if the vampire showed up at his door for the holiday. Besides, she knew he would decline even if she did ask him. Why would he want to spend time with her and the Scoobies? He would probably try and stab her with the carving knife - get her while her guard was down.

She snorted at the image of Spike pulling the knife out of the turkey and brandishing it at her like a pirate. The snort turned to full on laughter, her entire body shaking. So caught up was she in the idea, she never even noticed someone was following her.  
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"Fuck!" Spike snarled, leaping back to protect his boots as the bag of trash he had been trying to untie spilled out grease.

For the last two nights he had been going through people's trash, searching for more blankets and clothes for himself. The search had not been going well, most people in town donated clothes instead of simply throwing them out. The local thrift shops, however, had already been picked over by Sunnydale residents, meaning he was reduced to this unless he wanted to try shoplifting. And as the closest mall was over twelve miles away, meaning he would need his car to get there, and he had no money for gas…

"Bugger it all." he growled, moving on to the next trash can.

Aside from clothes, he had also been searching for items he could use when he found a new home. Already piled beside him were a very battered CD player and a small Coleman cooler with a large dent in the side, ugly but serviceable.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten in… five day? Six? He was having trouble keeping track. The days seemed to bleed together, the incessant cold sapping his strength.

Reaching into the trash can, he pulled out a bedside lamp with no shade. Deciding to take it, he turned to set it in his pile and came face to face with someone else

"Aghhh." he gasped, startled, and swung the lamp at the person.

They dodged deftly and stepped closer, his nose picking up a familiar scent.

"Oh it's you" he said warily, recognizing Buffy. The scent of trash had clotted his senses, "Sorry luv, but I'm not in the mood to dance."

Her eyes were unreadable as she looked him over and he shifted, not knowing what to do with the silence. Bending to pick up the rest of his score, he paused when she finally spoke.

"Spike, why are you digging through the trash?"

Straightening, he scowled, "I'm not stealin' it if that's what you're gettin' at. Garbage is fair game last I checked."

For some reason, his comment make her cheeks color, "But why?"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he stepped out of the piles of trash, "Cause I'm evil." he said, sarcasm dripping.

"Shut up," she advised, "before I decide you're more trouble than you're worth."

Spike smirked, "Pet, you have no idea how much trouble I can be." he licked his lip suggestively.

He smiled wider as she jerked away from him as though she had only just remembered he was a master vampire.

"You're a pig!" she practically spat.

"Oh don't worry bout me," he said dismissively, not bothered by the insult, "Angel was the one who liked 'em young."

Smack.

The punch to the face sent him reeling, his nose breaking. Falling backwards onto his ass, Spike snarled, blood pouring from both nostrils. His vision swam as lack of food caught up with him. He refused to show weakness in front of her again, however, and stumbling back to his feet. He lashed out with a hit of his own, managing to glance off her cheek.

"Oh what? You thought you were the first young bint Captain Forehead took a liking too?" he asked, dodging her as she came at him again.

"God, I hate you! And to think I thought you-" the rest of Buffy sentence was cut short as she received a kick to the gut.

"You thought what? We're enemies you stupid child!" he growled, eyes turning yellow as his face morphed, more blood spurting from his nose.

"Me a child? Who's constantly throwing temper tantrums when they don't get their way?" she asked, pulling a stake from her jacket when his game face came out.

Spike glanced at the stake, his body trembling in trepidation. He could kill her right now, they were all alone and she was plenty mad enough to go all out. Yet even as the demon purred, William was vehemently disagreeing.

"What do you say luv, one last dance?" he asked, ignoring the Victorian.

Buffy's eyes widened as she realized what he meant, her pace accelerating. He could hear her blood, an ambrosia, racing through thin veins as her heartbeat increased, preparing for the fight. His own blood shot south at the thought and he did not even bother to hide the reaction, the eagerness he felt at finally ending their little game consuming him.

The two were standing only eight feet apart, the space in the alley limited. It made no matter really, he had killed the last Slayer on a subway car. The confined space just made the challenge more interesting.

"Y'know, I 'spect three Slayers will be some kinda record." Spike said arrogantly, trying to get her moving.

Buffy was steeling herself, no humor in her normally light eyes, "It'll never happen." she said, conviction unshakable.

It was interesting, how different each Slayer was. The one he had killed during the Boxer Rebellion had been all traditional with the sword play and such. Her moves had been predictable but lethal for his fledgling self. The second had a bit more style to her, she fought fast and dirty. Spike saw her in Buffy, that spark of rebellion that most Slayers so clearly lacked.

"Oh I think it will." Spike said, raising his fists and settling into a comfortable stance. Blood was still streaming from his nose, dripping off his chin. The scent excited the demon, blood-lust threatening to overcome him.

'Not yet. This battle I want to remember.' Spike mentally pushed back against the animalistic desire to simply rip the Slayer limb from limb. She deserved a better death, something poetic.

For the first time in a week, there was no wind. The leaves were silent, no cars were driving by. The only source of movement was her steady heartbeat.

She moved, flickering so fast that only instincts allowed him to block the blow to the face.

"Again with the nose luv? Jealous of my good looks?" he smirked and pivoted sharply, getting behind her.

She whirled, the stake aimed where his heart should have been. The piece of wood only met air though as he ducked under her arm, headbutting her in the stomach.

Both seemed equally startled by the odd action, Buffy staggering back several feet and staring, brow raised.

Spike shrugged nonchalantly though his mind was racing. He had intended to sink his fangs in her soft stomach and spill her guts but something had stopped him.

"What was that?" Buffy asked, stake still poised.

"Expect the unexpected and all that." Spike said, lunging for her again.

She dodged him nimbly, boxing his ear as he flew past. He landed awkwardly, already turning towards her again to stop her next assault. Her stake whistled past him, catching in the fabric of his shirt as it grazed his side.

"Missed." he said matter of factly, punching her soundly in the face.

She flew backwards, hitting the ground hard. He was on her in an instant, his greater weight stopping her from squirming free. She had lost her grip on the stake when she fell and he picked it up, tossing it far into the darkness of the alley, hearing it clatter against the asphalt.

Gripping her shoulders, he looked down on her triumphantly. He could smell her fear now, thick and heady, making his head swim.

"Scared?" he asked, leaning closer.

Their faces were only a few centimeters apart, noses practically touching. She was his.

'Stop!' a voice screamed in his head, making him wince.

William was fighting, trying desperately to beat back the demon. Spike felt his human face return, fangs retract against his will.

"Sod off." he growled, ignoring the confused look Buffy was giving him.

Sitting back on his heels, he gripped his head, pulling some curls free. It felt like someone was hitting him over the head with a plank of wood, pain blossoming through his skull.

He did not even notice when Buffy crawled out from under him, his entire focus now on the hysterical poet freaking out inside. He did notice when she used the lapse in his attention to try and stake him.

Falling backwards, he kicked out at her, keeping her away from his chest, "Stop that." he said, wincing as his head continued to throb, "Can't you tell when a bloke is preoccupied?"

"You were trying to kill me remember?" she asked dryly, retreating several feet.

"Always tryin' luv." he said, glaring.

Her face shifted, curiosity making her look like a human instead of a warrior. He knew what she was going to say, it was why he had been avoiding her all this time.

"Then why did you save me on Halloween?" she asked.

The pressure in his head had finally started to recede, his hands falling into his lap as he sat up, "Wasn't me." he said.

Her eyes narrowed in a calculating way, as though she were trying to read him, "Of course it was you." she contradicted.

He shook his head, wincing, "It was a lapse in judgement, won't happen again. Promise."

The demon inside had faded, locked away somewhere for the moment. In its stead was… nothing. William was gone as well, his strength extinguished for the time being. For the first time in over a century, his head was empty. Nothing was pulling him, no primal desires or beliefs of chivalry weighing him down.

He was teetering on the edge of a cliff and he had no idea what lay below.

Bracing his hands against the ground, he hauled himself back to his feet, straightening his clothes.

"What, you don't want to fight anymore?" Buffy asked and though her tone was hostile, he felt no surge of anger.

He shoved past her, searching for his stash, 'Nope. Not a bit." he said.

Picking up the lamp, he reached for the CD player, only for a heeled foot to come crashing down on it, shards of metal flying everywhere.

"Bloody hell!" he snarled, "What is the matter with you?"

Buffy was glaring at him, her eyes poisonous, "Don't push me." she said sharply.

He snorted, "Or what? You'll hit me again? Right terrifyin' you are." Being snarky still came naturally to him. So that was who he was without the demon or the Victorian? Just some snarky bugger? Actually, he could live with that.

"Your nose is still bleeding." she said pointedly, reminding him of how hard she could hit.

"Yeah, I'm quakin' in my boots." he snapped, "No one hits like you pet."

They had reached a stalemate, both glaring daggers.

"Well, I'm off now. Lots to do before sunrise." Spike broke away first, picking up the cooler, "Oh and you owe me a CD player."

"I don't owe you a thing!" she yelled at his retreating back.

He spun, walking backwards, "I saved ya life 'member? Least you could do really." he grimaced.  
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Buffy was shaking as she watched the vampire retreat, her clenched fists trembling against her thighs. He was, without a doubt, the single most aggravating thing that existed on this planet, even more than an apocalypse or mosquitoes.

The urge to hit him was overwhelming. She had found him tonight and tried to act nice. Then he had tried to kill her and then… he freaked. And now he was walking away like nothing had happened. It was not fair how he got to make the calls, how he dictated all their encounters.

Spike had rounded the corner, disappearing from view, and she began to follow, running to catch up. Bursting out of the alley, she realized he was headed for the wooded area on the southern side of town.

If he knew she was following him, he ignored her, his long stride never faltering. The streets were empty so late at night, not even demons or vampires daring to wander out with dawn so near.

Buffy pulled her jacket closer around her, the cold seeming to return ten-fold now that her anger had abated some. She wished she was back at the college dorms with some hot chocolate and a marathon of MTV with Willow. Instead, she was stalking Spike and had no idea why. Sure she wanted answers about Halloween but were they really so necessary that she had to be out at two in the morning during her break?

They had reached the edge of the woods by now and for the first time, Spike hesitated.

"What are you doin'?" he asked, back to her.

His tone was low, defeated even. It did not suit him.

"I'm doing what you do… whatever I want." she was challenging him, wanting to push his buttons.

He sighed, a heavy sound that bore a lifetime of exhaustion, "So you're followin' me? God your life is borin'." he said, words lacking their usual bite.

She let the jab slide, barely, "Well I'm not going so why don't you just keep doing… whatever it is you're doing."

He shrugged slightly, duster shifting with the motion, before stepping into the woods, the darkness swallowing him.

Buffy did not even hesitate, following the vampire into the inky blackness. Spike was making no attempt to be quiet, his booted feet crunching leaves and twigs. It was enough noise for her keep track of him, his dark clothes meaning he practically disappeared in the darkness.

They kept walking for a good fifteen minutes, Buffy tensed for an attack. Ordinarily, the woods around Sunnydale were chock full of all kinds of slimy demons but tonight, they were conspicuously absent. It was Spike she was sure, his violent streak had never been reserved only for humans.

He stopped suddenly, all noise ceasing. She froze too, eyes straining to make his figure out. Something was clanking, metal against metal, and a bright light illuminated the small clearing they were in.

She was surprised to see his hidden DeSoto so deep in the woods, foliage covering the roof.

Spike opened the passenger door, setting his lamp and cooler down before climbing into the backseat, reclining lazily with his feet hanging out.

Buffy approached cautiously, realizing just how far from civilization she had strayed. Spike however, showed no signs of hostility, his blue eyes half closed against the harsh interior lights. She stopped just short of the car, his boots close enough to kick her knees if he moved.

His cheeks were gaunt, she had not noticed in the poor lighting of the alley, his skin ashen. Dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly, as well as his newly broken nose. She was alarmed to see it was still bleeding, the flow now reduced to a sluggish trickle of crimson.

His vampire healing powers should have kicked in by now and mended his nose. The only thing that could have slowed the process was…

"Spike?" she said quietly, trying to keep her tone free of any hostility.

He tilted his head forward, chin resting on his chest as he surveyed her, "What?"

She swallowed, taking his lack of aggression as a sign to continue, "When was the last time you ate?"

His blue eyes glittered, "Had some wings last night, nice and spicy."

The urge to hit him again swelled within her but she squashed it back down. It had begun to dawn on her that the more sarcastic Spike became, the more vulnerable he was feeling. She realized it had happened at Halloween as well but then most of her focus had been on surviving, not psychoanalyzing her unwilling partner.

"I mean blood, not human food." she said.

His head cocked doglike as the humor left his eyes, "What are you playin' at?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Nothing! You just - you look terrible." she said bluntly.

Spike grimaced, "Thanks. Just what a bloke wants to hear." he said darkly.

"That's not how I meant to say that." she winced.

He climbed out of the car jerkily, frustration etched in every line of his face, "I don't get you! It's war then it's not like we're livin' in some bloody play and I don't have a script! What are you lookin' for, some sign I've reformed? The world's not black and white, it's a thousand shades of grey luv. You're not in high school anymore, this is the real world."

Despite his aggressive demeanor, most of his anger seemed to be directed at himself, not her.

"What do ya want to hear? That I saved ya on Halloween cause I was feelin' guilty 'bout bein' a demon and decided to become good?" He lashed out viciously with his foot, kicking the front tire of his car with enough force to bend the rim, "I don't know why I did it okay?"

Breathing deeply, he walked away several feet, clasped hands resting behind his head as he tried to regain control.

Buffy watched silently, unsure what to do. It was not uncommon for Spike to lose control but rarely was his anger directed towards himself. All this time she had all these questions, it had never once occurred her that he had the same ones.

Without thinking, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head, wanting to get him to stop with the self deprecation, "Spike, you're invited to Thanksgiving!"


	4. Break It Down

Without thinking, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head, wanting to get him to stop with the self deprecation, "Spike, you're invited to Thanksgiving!"

Buffy clasped her hands over her mouth in horror, Giles was going to murder her, she thought, watching the vampire for his reaction. Maybe Spike would just think it was a joke or refuse to attend based on principle.

Spike cleared his throat and turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, "Er…. what?"

Buffy laughed hollowly, trying to ease the tension she felt rolling within her, "You know, Thanksgiving? The celebration of Native Americans and-and turkey."

His head was cocked slightly like when he found something puzzling and was trying to work through it, "Yeah, funnily enough, I do happen to know most major holidays." he was stalling, tone guarded as he tried to figure out her end game.

"Well we, the Scoobies I mean, are having a dinner and I thought maybe you would want to come."

Spike shivered, drawing his jacket around himself tightly, "I thought Thanksgiving was a celebration between, y'know, friends?"

Crap. Now he was totally going to misread the situation, she thought, wishing, not for the first time that night, that she had simply kept her mouth shut. His shivering though, did vampires get cold?

He was waiting for her response and she purposefully avoided his gaze. Instead, Buffy approached the DeSoto, looking inside the backseat. This must be where he had been staying, ragged blankets were piled high in a sort of nest.

"You've been living in your car this entire time?" she asked.

Spike looked relieved with the change in conversation, "Yeah well, what with all the nasties in the graveyards, not much room left over. Kippin' in the car was easier, I reckon every demon in Sunnydale knows who it belongs to." He looked proud though it was hard to take him seriously, blood still covering his face from the broken nose.

Buffy frowned. If he had not been eating regularly, and she was convinced of it now, then the bloody nose had probably drained a good chunk of what remained in his system. She had never seen a vampire like this, tired, cold, and hungry.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, repeating her question from before.

The guarded look returned, his blue eyes darkening, "Don't rightly remember. Maybe a week? It's damn near impossible to hunt right now, too much competition. Even the butchers have stopped sellin' blood."

"Why did all the vampires move out of the tunnels?" she asked.

The barest smirk returned, his lips turning upwards slightly, "Not tellin'. I've ready answered three of your questions. Least you could do is buy me dinner 'fore diggin' for more information."

The atmosphere became tense again, Spike's comment reminding both of them about Thanksgiving.

"Listen luv, I don't know what ya mean by invitin' me but your friends wouldn't like it none." He had an entire speech prepared, she could see his chest swell as he took a breath to continue.

"No, you were right before about how I should repay you for Halloween." Buffy interrupted, flinching. He had given her a way out and she had not taken it.

"You said thank you after, not every day a vampire gets an apology from the Slayer." His thumbs slid into his belt loops, pushing back the folds of the duster.

She followed the motion instinctively and realized why he was so cold. Underneath his jacket, all he wore was one of his basic black tee-shirts.

"Why aren't you wearing more clothes? You're freezing." she noted.

Something akin to anger twisted his face into an ugly expression, "When Harmony and the others all took off, they nicked most of my stuff. All I saved was the CDs."

Well that settled it then. Buffy had never been one who could watch another suffer. If he didn't agree to come to Thanksgiving, she would tie him to a chair and make him spend the evening next to the radiator.

"You're coming to Thanksgiving." she said, trying to keep any weakness from her tone.

Spike's scarred brow rose, some of his old swagger returning. She realized belatedly that her words had sounded like an order.

"Am not, I've got dignity and all. Somethin' like that gets round town, I'll never have a moments peace." he argued.

Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if Spike had any understanding of the word peace. Trying to play nice, she said, "Giles has a heater."

It was the slightest twitch, easily missed during a fight. But they were not fighting now. She felt weird, noticing all his instinctive reactions, it all made him seem more human.

"Heat you say?" The hunger was barely contained.

"Yep!" she said, he was hooked now.

"Well, maybe I'll try and stop by then." he said, sounding unconcerned, the brightening of his eyes giving away how relieved he was.

It was depressing to know he was that excited about spending a night out of the cold, even if it meant being in the presence of people he loathed. He was like a puppy, the littlest things made him happy. It was completely different from Angel. If the gypsies had cursed Spike with a soul, he would have lost it the moment he drank a beer.

"Terrific. It's the twenty-second, be there at five. Dinner starts at six."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Not a formal occasion is it? Cause I only got what's on me now." he gestured to his shirt and jeans.

She frowned, "Giles might have something you can borrow."

He snorted, "Yeah luv, I don't do tweed. Now if don't mind, it's nearly dawn." he said, looking pointedly at where she stood, blocking his way to the car.

"Oh right." she stepped out of his way and watched as he folded himself neatly into the backseat, pulling the blankets over himself as he curled up like a kitten… a kitten with the disposition of a serial killer.

"Close the door." he said gruffly, only a sliver of blonde hair peeking out from under the blankets.

She began to shut the door before pausing, holding it open several inches, "Oh Spike, you better be nice to everyone or the deal's off."

He peeked out at her, a solitary blue eye holding enough contempt to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, "Contrary to popular belief, I was the rich Victorian with manners before I was turned. Angel was the drunkard who was born in a barn." he growled, pulling the blanket back over his head.

Buffy shut the car door, rolling her eyes. Even after doing him a favor, it seemed Spike could not refrain from being sarcastic and arrogant. It was, like, eighty percent of his personality after all.

Turning away from the car, she began the walk back to Sunnydale going over all the things she would have to prepare at Giles'. Once again, she failed to notice the shadow which had been following her since she had left her house earlier…  
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Giles polished his glass with enough force to bend the rims. His entire home was a mess, food lay all over the kitchen counters, opened cooking books littered his living room, and someone (he suspected Xander) had used up all the good toilet paper.

A crashing sound echoed from the kitchen and he winced, putting his glasses back on hurriedly.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, stepping into the narrow cooking space.

"Oh everything is fine!" Anya said brightly, holding part of a broken plate in her hand.

The ex librarian paled, "I received that plate over twenty years ago from an old mage in Nepal." he said softly.

Buffy moved around him, bending over to help Anya clean the mess, "Gee Giles, is everything you own an antique?"

"Well obviously, just look at his clothes." Anya pointed out.

"Hey An?" Xander called from where he and Willow were lounging in the living room, having entered yet another debate about the best texture for mashed potatoes, "Remember what we talked about?"

"Oh right," She turned to Giles whose expression had become strained, "I am sorry for insulting your terrible choice in clothing."

Giles sighed, wondering why he had ever allowed any of this to take place in his home. At least it could not get any worse… who was he kidding? They lived on the bleeding Hellmouth, it would be a miracle if they all survived dinner the next day.  
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Despite Thanksgiving being tomorrow, Buffy had wanted to get a jump on prepping as much of the food as possible so the next day would not be overwhelming. Anya had shown some interest in learning how to cook so she had been assisting the Slayer to the best of her ability.

The vegetables had been chopped, the turkey was in the fridge so it could defrost, and the only casualty had been a plate. For a Buffy holiday, everything was going swimmingly.

Tired from all the prep work, she finished putting all the dirty dishes in the sink for Giles to clean and made her way into the living room. Everyone was lounging around, avoiding their own families. The battered radiator in the corner was giving off ample heat, meaning no one was willing to leave just yet.

"So is everyone in the holiday spirit?" she asked, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Willow.

Giles leaned forward suspiciously, seeing the mountain of dishes piled in his sink, "I feel something though I don't think it's holiday spirit." he muttered under his breath.

Willow responded to Buffy's question excitedly, "Yeah! I'm totally in the turkey eating spirit!"

Buffy looked Willow over. The fledgling witch had been smiling most of the day, a genuine smile. Hanging out with their friends had done her some good, she seemed perkier.

Feeling as though she were being watched, she glanced up to see Giles studying her. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded his head towards Willow, indicating he too had noticed her shift in demeanor. Buffy smiled warmly, happy to see everything was finally getting back to normal.

"I'm glad it's just us tomorrow." Xander said lightly, sprawled out on the love-seat, "It's just like old times."

Buffy's smile stiffened at his words. She had not exactly mentioned there was to be an additional dinner guest tomorrow, figuring the less time they had to plan how to kill Spike when he showed, the better. It felt weird, trying to protect the vampire from her friends when for the last three years she had been doing just the opposite. Spike did not need her protection though, he was merely taking what she had offered, a warm evening. He was selfish, his only motivation being his own pleasure.

'He didn't kill you in that alley last night,' the treacherous thought tickled her brain.

"Earth to Buffy." Willow called out, frowning.

Startled, the blonde looked around the room, realizing everyone was staring at her, "Oh sorry guys, I totally zoned out for a bit there."

"Perhaps it would be best if everyone headed home now. I assume you intend to commandeer my kitchen early tomorrow." Giles said dryly.

"Of course G-Man." Xander said, "It's not a proper holiday unless the old man is upset at all the younguns."

Giles grimaced, "May I remind you that 'this old man' as you put it was trained to withstand the physical prowess of the Slayer?"

"Then why do you make me hit the practice dummy?" Buffy asked innocently from the door where she was shrugging on her coat.

"Everyone get out. I need a drink." Giles picked up the closest bottle from his liquor cabinet and headed upstairs as the Scoobies let themselves out.

"Brrrrr, I hate the cold." Xander pulled his woolen hat down to cover his ears better.

Anya was gripping his arm, "You know what warms people up? Sex." she said.

Willow and Buffy giggled as Xander turned a spectacular shade of red, putting Elmo to shame.

"Anya, too much personal information." he said sharply.

"Well, we'll leave you two to it then." Buffy said as she and Willow began to walk in the opposite direction, sensing the brewing argument, "and don't forget to be back here at eleven." she reminded, heading back to the university.  
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"Hurry! The pies have to be in before four or they won't be done in time!" Buffy scrambled around her irate Watcher, shoving the assortment of desserts into his already crammed oven.

"Buffy really, a few minutes will hardly make a difference either way-" Giles was cut off as a damp rag hit him in the face.

"We need to finish the dishes so I have more room." Buffy said, ignoring the older man.

"Say Will?" Xander asked from where the two were setting the dining room table, "Do you think maybe Buff has completely lost her mind?"

Buffy deftly threw the salt shaker she had just been using to season the green beans at the boy's head, "Well if everyone had worked instead of goofing off, we wouldn't be rushing!"

"Giles make her stop!" Xander ducked behind Willow, expecting another projectile to be launched his way.

The ex librarian stumped into the living room, collapsing into an armchair with a half filled liquor glass pressed against his forehead, "Absolutely not." he said sourly.

Buffy glanced up from where she was mashing the potatoes, the force of her stirring mutilating the poor spuds. She had noticed Giles' rather lackluster response to the whole celebration when she had arrived earlier. Granted, she had left him all the dishes the previous night but hey, everyone was making sacrifices.

The clock, directly across from her, ticked hauntingly, reminding her that she still had not mentioned Spike would be arriving in… thirty-seven minutes!

Setting the potatoes aside, she looked over the kitchen critically. Everything that needed to cook was in the oven, the remainder in the fridge, ready to serve. This left her with an hour to spare… and about twenty minutes to break the news about Spike.

Stepping out of the kitchen, she flopped down on the couch where Anya was engrossed with the television. Xander and Willow took this as their que to stop working as well, joining the others.

The scent of the roasting turkey drifted through the air and, coupled with the heat from the radiator, had lulled everyone into a relaxed state. Even Giles' stiff lip had dropped into a placid smile.

Buffy alone remained tense, trying to figure out how best to bring up Spike. She decided to just jump off the deep end, how bad could it be really?

"Hey Willow, how many place settings did you set?" she asked carefully, feeling as if she were juggling a grenade… blindfolded.

"Five. One for each of us." she said, "Why?"

"Well, someone else is coming over." she bit her lip, "I invited someone, I mean."

It was Xander who asked the inevitable, "Who?"

"Um…Spike." she said softly.

Deafening silence.

Then Giles cackled weakly, "Gracious, you scared us for a second." he said, taking his glasses off to polish them.

"Giles I'm serious." Buffy said.

Snap - there went the glasses. Giles stared at her, the broken frames clutched in his tight grasp.

"Y-you what?" he asked.

Anya looked excited, "This is good!" she said delightedly, looking put out when no one shared her enthusiasm, "What? He's good looking." she defended.

Xander looked sick, "This is a trick right? You invited him here so you can stake him… right?"

Buffy frowned, "No I invited him because I wanted to. And no one is allowed to kill him but me." she directed the last part of her sentence towards Giles, who was searching in his desk for another pair of glasses.

He looked at his Slayer furiously, "Buffy, this is my house! I cannot believe you acted so-"

"So what?" she challenged, "Spike saved my life during Halloween twice."

That shut the others up. Buffy had never mentioned anything from that night, saying she had just wandered around until she had found the others.

"H-He did?" Willow asked, her tone at least was not accusatory.

"When we all separated, I stepped through this door and fell down a hole. Spike grabbed me and flipped me over so I didn't hit the ground. We ended up in the basement and this… thing showed me my worst fear."

The others winced, remembering all too well the events of that night.

"These zombie hand came out of the ground and grabbed me. I couldn't fight them off, they were everywhere. And then Spike picked me up and carried me out." she glanced over the part about the vampire's worse nightmare coming alive.

Giles, however, was more perceptive than she had anticipated, "So, this thing showed you Spike's worst fear?"

This was so not good.

"So, when is he supposed to show then?" Anya asked, having not really followed the conversation, and managing to drown out Giles' question.

Buffy glanced up at the clock, "If he's on time, five minutes."

The entire room gallivanted into action, Xander and Giles threw open the weapons chest and pulled out stakes and small bottles of holy water.

"Look, I made him promise to play nice or he would have to leave." Buffy said sharply.

Giles rounded on her and for a moment, she could see why he had been called Ripper.

"I want a word with you. Now." he said, leading the way to the bathroom, the only place with any real privacy.

Closing the door, Buffy watched the older man pace around the confined space, "What were you thinking?" he asked sharply.

"Giles, I owe him. He gave me the Gem of Amarra and he saved me on Halloween." Buffy said, her own temper finally reaching boiling point.

He spun on his heels, approaching her, "You took that Gem." he said sharply.

Shaking her head, Buffy leaned against the vanity, "No, I didn't. When we were fighting, he just kinda gave up. He knew I wanted to give the gem to Angel so he let me take it."

Giles sighed, "I don't know what his plan is, but you simply cannot trust Spike!"

"You didn't see him!" she yelled suddenly, voice echoing around the confined space, "He's hungry and cold and living in his car. Thanksgiving is about everyone having a place to stay and I'm giving one to him!"

"Vampires don't get cold." he snorted.

Her eyes narrowed, "He was."

"He's over a century old, I'm sure he'll get over it."

"People can change." Buffy said, remembering her conversation with her mother.

"Yes Buffy people can. But he's not a person, he's a demon." Giles said sharply.

"There's something there. We fought two nights ago and… something's changed. He could have killed me but he didn't."

"You're trying to rationalize the actions of a lunatic!" Giles yelled, "And you intended to invite him into my house and put your friends in danger."

"This isn't up for debate." Buffy voice had gotten quieter as the Watcher's rose, "I promised him a warm place to stay."

"I'm sure he's never broken a promise to you." Giles growled.

She thought back when she had first met Spike, when he had promised to help her kill Angelus in exchange for Drusilla's life. Sure he had shown up the following year, but he had been so wasted she was not sure if he even remembered most of that encounter.

"No. He's never broken an important promise to me." she said coldly.

Giles stopped pacing, looking at her closely, "And what if you are incorrect about your assessment of him?"

Buffy glowered back, holding her ground, "Giles, I truly believe something is changing. When we fought two nights ago... he just let me go. He started holding his head in pain and backed off. Does that sound like him?"

"What you are proposing…" Giles trailed off with a sigh.

Remembering what her mother had said, she continued, "He didn't want to become a vampire. Maybe we should stop treating him like it."

"It's a risk, Buffy. A big one." he was no longer fighting her.

She swallowed, "I know that. And I know he's an enormous jerk who enjoys annoying everyone around him, but… he's not like regular vampires."

"I concede with you on that." Giles said, "Very well, we'll play this your way. But Buffy, please promise me this is just for today."

Buffy nodded though she was not planning on making good on the promise. She wanted to know about Spike, he was this puzzle that was tickling at her. And also the future of her Psych project rested on interacting with him.

"Thank you Giles. There's just one more thing." she said, "His clothes are not in good shape. Could you give him some for tonight at least?"

Much like herself, Giles had trouble watching others suffer. She knew he would agree the moment she proposed the question, his eyes softening at her plaintive tone.

A soft knock on the door broke the moment as the two froze. Robotically, Giles opened the bathroom door and stepped out, pulling a stake from his back pocket despite Buffy's disapproving look. Moving around him to answer the door, Buffy noticed everyone else was standing way back. The knock came again, stronger, and she pulled open the door, revealing with a slightly smoking figure.

Spike was huddled under a blanket, hiding from the sunlight. He looked worse than last time, his cheeks were sunken and the bags under his eyes had darkened. The broken nose had not sorted itself out yet, the bridge still a yellow bruise.

"Let me in." he said urgently, tugging the blanket to cover more of himself.

"You're not welcome here!" Xander called from his position by Willow, his legs quaking slightly.

The vampire scowled, "Not your place to be makin' those kinda decision. Slayer invited me personally whelp."

"Spike, I said you'd only be allowed in if you played nice." Buffy warned.

Blue eyes rolled, "Right. Sorry mate." he called to Xander, "Now let me in ya? I can feel the heat from here." he looked over her shoulder hopefully.

Buffy signed, "Giles?" she prompted the watcher.

The older man glanced at the vampire huddled on his front stoop. He certainly looked terrible, shaking slightly, his ashen face miserable.

"Hey can you guys make a decision, you're letting all the cold air in." Anya complained, one eye still trained on the television.

"Spike, if I let you in, you behave. One wrong move and you will be staked, understood?" he asked.

The vampire was nodding feverishly, "Course, no killin'. Promise. Can I come in now?" he asked.

Giles tightened the grip on his stake and stepped back, "Fine. You may enter." he said curtly.

It was all Spike needed. He dove inside house, dropping his smoking blanket as he made for where the radiator stood. Xander, startled by the vampire's speed, leapt out of his way with an undignified yelp. Clamoring over the couch, it being the most direct path, Spike crouched in front of the metal device, eyes sliding closed as warmth flowed over him.

"Hey!" Xander said, trying to retain some his dignity, "Watch it."

Spike snorted, opening his eyes and shooting him a glare, "Don't get in my way." he threatened.

Sensing that the rising tensions were liable to boil over, Buffy closed the door hard. At the bang it made, everyone turned instinctively to face her.

"Enough! Today it Thanksgiving and everyone is going to behave themselves. That means no threatening, no fighting, and," she paused and looked over the others, "no dusting."

Xander still looked mutinous which worried her. She knew he had her best interest at heart but she knew what she was doing… mostly. Looking back to Spike, she saw he sensed the same thing about the male. Even with his duster on, his tense shoulders could be made out, his eyes roving the room warily. It was probably not a good idea to leave him unattended, he looked ready to attack the first person that came too close.

Anya had finally turned off the television, watching the vampire curiously. Reaching out, she grabbed the collar of his coat, tugging it slightly. He jerked at her touch, a growl rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked sharply, standing.

Anya rolled her eyes, "You're still wearing your coat. It is traditional for the hostess of an event to take everyone's outerwear and hang it up. Seeing as Buffy has forgotten, I thought I would do it."

The vampire made no move to take off his duster, instead focusing his gaze on Buffy. He was challenging her, she realized. If she took his coat, it would mean she thought he was equal to the others. Not wanting to appear too eager to have him stay, she had to still be careful after all, she snapped, "Hang up your own coat. And then come and help me in the kitchen. Everyone else has been working hard for the last two days to make this dinner."  
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The way the order rolled off her tongue made his blood boil, his temper starting to rise. Starting a fight, however, was not in his best interest. He did not want to be kicked out now, feeling warm had made his hunger seem bearable again.

Stepping around the couch, he ignored Buffy's surprised look and approached the coat rack. Shrugging off the duster, he hung it up casually, turning back to face the others.

Willow gasped, the witch covering her mouth in horror. Giles and Xander looked stony, some of the hostility bleeding from their features as they surveyed him.

Looking down, Spike remember, belatedly, that he was in rough shape. His black tee, which normally hugged his features, hung loosely around his frame. The fabric itself was covered in holes, trophies from all the fighting the last few weeks. His jeans were in no better shape, the knees ripped and frayed from one fall too many.

"Wh-what happened?" Willow asked, stunned.

Buffy answered, "All his stuff was stolen by his minions when they left and most of the vamps in town are starving because there is not enough food to support them all."

"I can answer for myself luv." Spike bristled, feeling humiliation burn in his gut. He could see pity in their eyes, even the Watcher's. Something quivered within him… William.

Before he had been turned, pity had been one of his closest friends. Those that had not mock his poetry and unreturned advances had looked upon him like a three legged puppy. Once he had become a vampire, there had been no more pitied looks, no more sad smiles tossed his way like he were a beggar.

Swallowing hard, he plastered a glare on his face, "What's with the sad looks? Just a mo' ago you were all tryin' to kill me. Must make you happy, seein' the Big Bad like this."

It was so easy to hurt people, it was the first thing Angelus had taught him when he rose. The right words could break a man more effectively than any weapon, destroy them from the inside like a parasite.

"You're hardly the 'Big Bad' anymore." Xander said, some of his swagger returning now he realized how weak the vamp was. He turned to Giles expecting the other man to agree, "Giles?"

The Watcher was surveying Spike, his eyes calculating. Of everyone in the Scooby Gang, Giles had always unsettled him the most. Perhaps it was because he was another Englishman such as himself, an unwanted reminder of the past. More likely, it was because the man had the uncanny ability to assess others. Spike had always valued how unpredictable he was - it had saved him more than once in a fight. Being studied so closely made him feel vulnerable, his instincts screaming for him to escape.

"Spike," the Watcher said cautiously, as though he were not sure how his words would be interpreted, "do you need to borrow some clothes?"

The question reverberated, the room suddenly silent.

"Giles man, you can't be serious." Xander looked worriedly at the older man.

Willow bumped her friend, hard, "Shut up Xander." she advised.

Spike stared at the Watcher, mind racing. He was always the one in control, always the one who made the rules. But in this situation, in this house, he found himself to have neither.

"Not pullin' my chain are ya?" he asked Giles, trying to squash the urge to run.

New clothes would be spectacular right now, everything he was wearing was so dirty it itched. But at what price? Sure, most of the hostility directed towards him had fled, but what about tomorrow? The act of kindness being offered to him was greatly appreciated but he could not be certain it was not a trap, a way to get him to owe them… not that he was liable to follow through if it was.

"Certainly not!" Giles said, moving towards the stairs "Come upstairs and we'll get you sorted."

Some of Spike's old swagger returned, arrogance flashing in his blue eyes as he hid his uncertainty, "Alright. But no tweed old man." he said, following the Watcher.

The upstairs was only a balcony which housed a bed, closet, and dresser. Spike looked over the railing idly, noticing the rest of the Scoobies were gathered below in a tight cluster, arguing. Their voices drifted up to him, vampire hearing allowing him to eavesdrop.

"What is Giles playing at?" Xander clearly had not come to terms with the man's decision.

"No more Xander please." Willow pleaded with her friend.

Buffy looked furious, "I'm sick of this!" she said sharply, "Spike needs help."

Help.

God he was a moron.

"Spike?" Giles had stepped away from the closet, several pairs of pants draped over his arm, "These are a few sizes too small for me so they should fit you."

He nodded absently, still staring down to the floor below. This entire thing had been a terrible mistake. He had allowed his weakness to overcome him, the prospect of getting out of the cold clouding the warnings.

William seemed content, happy even, that Buffy had taken pity on him, that she had thought he needed her help. The ponce had always craved attention, some sign that he was cared for. But that same pity was tearing into Spike, enlarging the hole that had been created Halloween night. He had always seen Buffy as an equal regardless of her situation. They were more than simple enemies, their destinies were twined together by steel coils that only death could break.

She thought he was weak.

His demon was oddly silent on the topic, too animalistic to have such an emotional response to something so trivial.

"Spike?" Giles asked and the vampire turned away from the railing reluctantly, noting that the Watcher stood rather close to him.

His features settled into his customary smirk, his shield firmly in place. He was acting pathetic. Who cared if Buffy thought he was weak? He would just prove to her a thousand times over that he was a master vampire.

His thoughts strayed to the day Parker had left. She had been so close to breaking, her emotions so raw that he could have snapped her in two with merely his words. But it went further back than that. He remembered when she had denied herself Angel, the two stuck in limbo, unable to move forward as they both tried the friend zone thing. Every time she had stumbled, he had given her nothing but his best, not allowing her to fall short of his expectations.

Why was she doing this? Indulging him. Where had the fear gone?

A hand touched his elbow, just the lightest brush. Jerking back, he gripped the prodding appendage and was surprised to find Giles standing right in front of him, hazel eyes full of… concern?

"Some Watcher you are, pokin' a master vampire." Spike bared his human teeth, sparks of yellow appearing in his eyes

Giles looked terrified and tried to yank his hand free from the vampire's much stronger grasp, "Unhand me at once or…"

"Or what?" Spike asked, raising a brow, "S'far as I recall, your only talent is gettin' knocked out." Laughing, he released the other man's arm and tugged the jeans from his lax grasp.

"Y-you didn't kill me." Giles said faintly, eyes wide behind his spectacles.

"Brilliant deduction, I see why they assigned you the Slayer," Spike said dryly.

The Watcher stepped out of reach, still pale, "Why?"

"Why didn't I kill you? Didn't want ta. What, you think I just walk down the street and kill every bloke I meet?" Spike's mood was increasing rapidly, a sense of elation at picking on the other man pushing down William and his fragile feelings.

"Well," Giles fiddled with his glasses, "It sounds rather silly when you say like that."

Spike was checking the jeans, "Hey, you got any shirts?" he asked.

The Watcher's eyes flashed behind his glasses but he did not react to the rude response. Instead, he turned towards the wooden dresser, pulling open one of the drawers and extracting a plain white tee shirt.

"I'm afraid I don't own anything in your customary black." he said, handing the shirt over and leading the way back down the stairs.

Spike shrugged, following. Ordinarily he avoided light colors because they stained too easy but right now he could not give a damn what he wore so long as it was clean. Stepping down into the main level, he found Buffy and her friends were still huddled together, arguing. He heard his name come up more than once.

"Will everyone quiet down please?" Giles asked, "You're squabbling like children!"

The group broke off their conversation, eyeing Giles guiltily.

Buffy was the first to notice Spike, the clothes still clutched in his grasp, "Oh, you found him some stuff to wear?"

Giles nodded, making his way towards his liquor cabinet, "Just some old things that don't fit me." he said casually, searching for a specific bottle.

Satisfied, Buffy addressed Spike, "You can change in the bathroom, it's just down there." she pointed to the small hall.

She was treating him so… domestically.

Swaggering towards the bathroom, he threw over his shoulder, "Bossy bint."

As he swung the door shut, he caught a glimpse of the Slayer's angry face and nearly laughed aloud. It felt good to exert his Big Bad persona, though once again he could feel William's guilt squashing his mood.

Tonight had been one of the most emasculating experiences of his unlife, even the bloody Watcher had touched him, not fearing he would get bit. He wanted Dru back. Hell, he would even take Captain Forehead at this point. At least when he was with them, he had known his function, known his purpose.

Because it was becoming increasingly clear to him that he no longer had one. For the last year he had thought he existed to kill the Slayer, putting all his time and effort into that one task. But now here she was, brazenly inviting him to the holiday like he was that one weird cousin no one actually wanted around.

The irony was not lost to him, only a month ago he had been furious with her for forgetting her own purpose, for daring to pretend to be normal. The difference was he had hauled her out, he had a feeling she was going to let him sink.

Shaking his head angrily, he shucked off his old clothes and tried on Giles'. The shirt was still loose on his emaciated frame but at least it was not stained and full of holes. He tried on the slimmest pair of jean, finding even these too large for his narrow hips. Pulling his belt off the ruined pair, he looped it on the new one, tightening it more than normal. He did not bother to tuck his shirt in, not wanting to make himself appear any weaker than he already looked.

Pulling his boots back on, he exited the bathroom, leaving the old clothes folded neatly on the vanity in case he need to change back before he left later. Stepping into the living area, he hesitated, uncertain of what to do.

Everyone else was bustling around, moving food, finishing the setting of the table. He skirted the edge of the room, making his way back to the radiator. Crouching before it, he allowed the others to finalize their preparations, not particularly interested in acknowledging them just yet.

Frustration welled within him, though it was mostly directed at himself. Not too long ago he had not given a damn about what others thought of him. He knew he was stronger and faster than most, this cockiness giving him the freedom to do as he pleased.

This was all William's doing.

"Hey Peroxide. Care to help us out?" Xander said, noticing the vampire.

Spike's normal snarky answer died on his tongue, leaving behind a bitter taste. Rising slowly, he stretched, back popping in appreciation. Ignoring the whelp, he instead approached the kitchen.

"Here, can you carry this?" Buffy asked, thrusting a bowl of vegetables into his chest.

Complying, he set the bowl down on the table, leaving room in the center for where he assumed the turkey would go. At least, he assumed the bird would be at the center, that was where it was usually placed on the television commercials he had seen.

The table was set for six, though he noticed one setting had no plate or utensils. It was probably his then, vampires drew no nutrients from human food after all. Still, he had always liked regular food, something that had made Darla in particular scoff. A part of him had enjoyed the idea of eating something. Even if it was not blood, a full stomach would feel nicer than an empty one.

The others had filed in, all carrying various dishes. Buffy herself was handling the turkey, not trusting anyone else with the important task. Once that too had been safely set down, everyone prepared to sit, Giles sitting at the head and Buffy opposite him.

Spike sat as well and looked up, realizing the other three had not taken their seats. From the mixed looks he was receiving, he realized the issue was himself, one of the others would have to side beside him. Even Anya seemed uncertain and he wondered what Xander had told her to make the normally outspoken girl so wary.

It hurt. More than it should have. These people hated him and he felt similarly, why should their feelings matter in the slightest? He wanted to say it mattered to William, him being the more sensitive one but, for once, the feelings of inadequacy was entirely his own.

He stood, the force making his chair wobble alarmingly as it nearly toppled over. Buffy's eyes darted between him and her friends, sensing the issue, but he paid her no mind.

"I'd better be goin' now." he said curtly, heading for the door.

"What? No Spike come back." Buffy said, sending a vicious glare at Xander who looked victoriously at the vampire's retreating back.

"S'alright. You promised me a warm place for a bit and I got it. We're all even now, yeah?" he pulled his duster off its hook, shrugging it on and opening the door.

The blanket he had arrived with was gone, presumably thrown away as it had been little more than a rag. The sun had nearly set though. So long as he remained in the shadows, it was unlikely he would catch fire.

Buffy was up, approaching him, "No wait! The others didn't mean it…" she trailed off as he glared at her, his blue eyes hard.

"The quicker you get this through your head, luv, the better. We're enemies. Our debts have been paid, we owe each other nothing." he snarled, wanting to scare her.

She it her lip, holding back the scathing retort he knew she wanted to toss at him.

"What's the matter, 'fraid to say somethin'?" he goaded her, releasing his own frustration on her.

"Stop it you two!" Willow said sharply, the entire room focusing on her.

Tears were welling in her eyes as she stood, shaking with suppressed emotion, "N-no more fighting please! Tonight was supposed to be about us… all of us." her lip quivered.

Some of the joy Xander seemed to be taking from making the vampire leave drained from him, "Will, it is about us. The Scooby Gang's all here, we just needed to get rid of one unwanted guest."

Willow clutched her stomach as though she were in physical pain, her tears flowing freely now, "Stop trying to a-act all noble. You brought A-Anya and she's not an original S-Scooby! If he hadn't left then Oz would be here too. So Buffy invited Spike. He hasn't done an-anything to hurt any one of us all night. You more than anyone should h-hate how everyone is f-fighting. Isn't that why you're here instead of with your own family?"

Wiping her face furiously, the witch flopped into the chair next to the one Spike had vacated with a defiant look. Xander and Anya sank into their own chairs on the opposite side of the table, leaving Buffy and Spike standing.

Everyone was silent, contemplating Willow's words as the tension that had clouded most of the night finally dissipated.

Buffy glanced at Spike, biting her lip, "Please stay?" she asked.

The vampire sighed, stepping away from the opened door and removing his jacket again, "I guess I have to now, after Red's speech." he said, lip unturning slightly in a smile. Who knew the shy girl had it in her?

Buffy looked relieved, stepping around him to close the door. A familiar scent drifted across his nose, stirring old memories. Hair gel.

He recognized it before Buffy gasped aloud at the figure she found standing in the doorway. Before the Watcher's muttered oath as he pulled his stake out of his pocket. Before Anya stood to get a better look at the new male visitor and Xander tugged her back down.

"Buffy-" the voice was silky, ensnaring, "Can you invite me in-"

Spike felt pain burst from his newly split knuckles, blooding dripping from his pale fingers, as his fist connected with the figure who landed gracelessly on his ass.

"Hullo Angelus." the blonde vampire sneered, surveying his grandsire with barely contained contempt.

His insides were boiling, white hot fury washing over him. Last time he had seen Angel, he had been too drunk to give the sod what was coming to him. This time, nothing was holding him back from paying his Grandsire for all the humiliations he had suffered through while in the wheelchair.

"Spike," the larger man got back up, brushing himself off, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got myself an invite, somethin' you don't have. Though can't say I blame 'em what with you killin' the Watcher's girl and all."

Angel bristled, his game face barely contained, "A lot has happened since then so get lost."

Boldly, Spike stepped from the safety of Giles' home, thumbs in his belt loops, "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten 'bout last year when you abandoned your girl for your own-" the hit, though expected, was faster than the blonde vampire had anticipated. Staggering backwards, he rubbed his jaw, relieved to find it was not broken.

A blonde blur appeared between the two, Buffy.

"You have no right to be here." she said, addressing Angel angrily.

The brooding vampire looked away, not meeting her gaze, "I know. I just-"

Buffy cut him off aggressively, "You were being selfish! Do you know how many times I wanted to go to Los Angeles and see you? But I didn't because I respected our decisions!"

Spike eyed the two, enjoying the shamed look on Angel's face, "Run along Angelus, girl's spoken."

He scowled, "That's not my name."

"Sorry mate but you'll never be anythin' different to me. Just a monster who like his girls young." Spike leapt back as Angel flew at him, the two glaring dagger at one another.

Buffy was saying something but the two were so engrossed in their fight that they did not even acknowledge her.

"How's life without Dru? I heard she left you." Angel said, sending a volley of punches at the smaller vampire.

Spike danced out of the way, eyes poison, "Go to Hell. Oh wait, you've already done that and it was your own bird who sent you."

The two collided, falling to the group as they wrestled. Spike was the first to break free, kicking Angel hard in the face as he scrambled into a crouch. He was breathing hard already, the lack of blood making him dizzy. Ignoring it, he leapt at Angel again, managing to get two punches in before he was tossed hard into the inactive fountain in the center of the little courtyard. Winded, he sank to the ground, laying on his stomach.

Angel's boot appeared over his neck and Spike froze, not even breathing.

"This right here is why I always had to treat you so bad. You never listen." Angel's eyes were yellow, his face morphing.

Spike laughed even as a shiver went down his spine. This was too familiar.

Angel noticed, his eyes glittering, "Remembering all the fun times we had? One of my fondest memories will always be you, stuck in that pathetic wheelchair while me and Dru screwed right in front of you."

Spike never even noticed his demon awaken. One moment he was on the ground, and the next he had Angel pinned to the wall, slamming him back hard enough to concuss the larger vampire.

"Y'know since the day I turned I've always dreamed 'bout dustin' you. I never did it cause Dru loved you, cause you made her you sick, twisted fuck!" He shook Angel again, hands twisted in the lapels of his shirt, "She's a monster, worse than us cause she's got no idea 'bout anythin' sides killin'. And I promised myself I'd do right by her and end you, avenge her."

Angel laughed, a rich baritone, "Oh man, you still love her don't you? Spike you are, without a doubt, the oddest vampire I've ever met. Now if could let me go, you're wrinkling my shirt."

He shoved Spike away, the blonde vampire's game face disappearing abruptly as he looked at something next to Angel.

Confused, the dark haired vampire turned and found himself face to face with an enraged Buffy, stake in hand.

"Both of you stop!" she yelled.

Spike heeded her, too weak to continue the fight anyway. Sinking to the ground, he leaned back against the fountain, watching the two exes.

"Buffy, you need to get rid of him." Angel said, his game face disappearing as well.

The blonde glared, "No, you need to leave. You can't just show up here and expect to be one of the gang, not anymore."

"Are you choosing him over me?" Angel's ego made an appearance.

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not choosing either of you. God, get over yourself."

Angel leaned close to her, so close that only she could hear his words, not even Spike's sensitive hearing making anything out. He watched Buffy's face turned from red to purple to white so fast it looked cartoonish.

She suddenly pushed the vampire away from her, looking lethal, "Don't give me that crap. Get out."

Realizing he had no chance now, Angel shot Spike a dark look and retreated. As he passed the blond vampire's slouched form, he reached down and ran his hand through his gel stiffened locks, pulling a few curls loose.

Spike yanked his head back harshly, eyes trained on Angel. His entire body stiffened as the larger figure loomed over him, a familiar glint in his dark eyes.

"Angel," Buffy said his name so calmly that he thought she had changed her mind. Turning around, he looked at her.

Instead of being invited back, all she said were six words that pushed them dimensions apart, "I know about the hair pulling."

He looked down at Spike, blue eyes staring back at him hollowly, "Don't ever get in my way again." he snarled, realizing he may never be able to fix his relationship with the Slayer in lieu of all Spike could tell her about his soulless days, "The next time I see you, I will kill you." And with that he was gone, vanishing into the darkness and leaving behind a mess.

Spike sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. The evening air did not even register against his bare arms, weariness threatening to swallow him completely. Angel had always known how to rile him, knew exactly what nerves to hit to get him to do whatever he wanted. The digs about Dru had nearly pulled the demon out full force. If that had happened, he would have been out of control, too animalistic to think. Buffy would have staked him and the end.

Despite Angel having a soul, Spike found his Grandsire treated him just as bad as he had a century ago, the constant mind games worse than any physical injury. Bones mended but the mind? Once it was broken there was no way to repair it. He had tried with Drusilla, had tried to teach her to be sane again. All he had accomplished was hurting himself.

"Spike? Are you okay?" Buffy was asking him and he reluctantly opened his eyes, the entire Scooby Gang framed in the doorway, the lighting spilling out from behind them making it difficult for him to read their expressions.

"Always, luv." he said, getting back to his feet. Aside from his knuckles, which had already stopped bleeding, he was, physically, no worse for wear.

Buffy was biting her lip again, a sure sign she did not believe him, but he ignored it, stepping back inside. Everyone looked uncomfortable, not sure what to do. They looked to the Slayer for direction, uncertain of how Angel's return had affected her.

She looked unbothered, however, going back towards the table to eat their now cold dinner. The others followed suit, only Giles remaining near the door where the blond vampire stood.

Spike could practically see the smoke emanating from the man's ears as he thought through what had happened. But honestly he was too tired to care, wanting to just go to sleep and forget all about today ever happening.

"Hey Watcher? Can I kip on your couch for a bit? I don't fancy wanderin' out right now." Spike asked, nostrils flaring as he scented the air, making sure all traces of his Grandsire were gone.

"Scared Angel is still hanging around?" Xander piped up. At the glares everyone else shot him, he threw his hands up defensively, "Well it's a legitimate concern! If Angel's gunning for Spike, they could tear the entire city apart fighting."

"Not bloody likely. If Angelus broke so much as a mailbox, he'd feel bad that someone might not get their electric bill." Spike scoffed, digging into his pocket for a cigarette.

"A sentiment he does not seem to share about you." Anya noted, "As sexy as it was for the two of you to fight, I think he might have killed you if Buffy had not intervened."

"Yeah. Angel's normally all broody and grim. He was kinda cruel when you fought though, it's not like him." Willow said, her composure back.

The blonde vampire grimaced, "Oh right. You lot knew Angelus for, what, three years? Clearly you know him better than I." The sarcasm was back, "Me and 'im, we go back over a century. And believe me, I've seen it all, soulless, cursed, drunk, depressed. There's not a side to the ponce I'm not acquainted with."

Flopping onto the couch, he took a drag from his lit cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream, and continued, "Angelus had hardly any control in his life when he was human. From what I've gathered, he was a drunk raised by a bigger drunk. When Darla turned 'im, suddenly he had power and a lot of it. Becoming a vampire doesn't destroy the humanity in you, it feeds what's already there. Angelus was a shoddy person, so he was a great vamp without even tryin'.

"Feeds the humanity in you?" Giles asked, curious, "I've never of anything like that before."

"You wouldn't, not somethin' we bring up at dinner parties, how human we are. I've met a lot of vampires in my time and they come in just as many shades as people do, just depends on who they used to be." The urge to belittle Angel had led him down an unexpected path, time to pump the brakes on this thing before someone asked-

"Then who were you before you turned?" Buffy asked.

Bollocks.

"Doesn't matter, that sod is long gone." he said, cigarette bobbing as he talked. William twitched within him at the lie.

"You're being rather loose with all the information." Xander said, trying to keep any hostility from his tone.

Spike leered openly, removing the stub and tossing it in a cup on the coffee table to extinguish it, "Longer I talk, more time I get to spend on the couch. 'Sides, I never miss an opportunity to show Captain Forehead's fan-club what he's really like."

"When you say the vampire 'feeds on the humanity' what do you mean?" Buffy asked, sensing that she needed to get this question out now before he grew bored with his little game.

Spike glanced her way before addressing Giles, knowing he was the best versed in vampiric lore, "You Council lot ever wonder why fledgling vamps are so hungry when they rise?"

Giles pursed his lips, "I've always assumed it was because the transformation was taxing on the body."

"Part of it, that. But hunger, real hunger, so strong you can't even control it, that's somethin' else. Everyone likes food, it sustains you after all. But after you turn, there's no presidence, no diets, or image of yerself to weigh you down. It's every craving you've ever had and there's nothing stopping you. If a fledgling lives long enough to get over the initial blood craving, then they want a whole lot o' sex. Those two things drive people, food and pleasure, an' a vamp can indulge in both.

"Most are content with those two things, things that were denied to them as humans. On occasion though, you meet a few who have retained their love of knowledge or literature or whatever. Takes more control, puts the human and demon at odds, but it can be done. If the Watcher ever turned," he gestured to Giles, "He'd still be obsessed with research, it's a part of him. Not his soul or heart, but a fundamental piece of the fabric of himself."

He finished his little lecture, bored again. Honestly, after centuries of hunting vampires, he would have expected the Watcher's Council to know at least a little of this stuff. His audience had become silent, picking at their food as they mused over what he had said.

"So, Watcher, can I crash here?" he asked, fully intending to do so regardless of the man's answer. The couch was way more comfortable than the backseat of his car. He reckoned it would be better for him in the long run to play nice though. After all, wandering out in his current state was liable to get him killed.

Giles turned in his chair to face him and again Spike felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He sensed that, much as something had changed with Buffy's perception of him, so to had the Watcher's.

"For tonight." he said, thoughtfully, "And I'm assuming you'll be needing some blood?"

Well, that was… odd. The Watcher was going to allow him to not only stay in his home but feed him as well? His stomach growled, telling him to not botch this opportunity.

"Hate to tell you, but the butcher's have stopped sellin' blood. They were getting robbed every other night by other hungry beasties."

"Someone could make a hospital run, usually they place all the unusable blood in a freezer in the basement until it can be picked up." Buffy said, spearing a pea with her fork.

"They do that?" Spike asked, calculating in his mind how much money he could make if he were to sell the plasma.

She nodded, "It's the stuff too old to use in surgeries. I'll make a run tonight before I go home."

"Splendid pet." Spike said around yawn.

Sitting back up, he removed his belt and boot and laid back down, pressing his face into a pillow to hide from the light. He was confident enough that no one would bother staking him tonight. It seemed everyone now stood on neutral grounds with him at least until tomorrow… except for Xander of course. The radiator clicked, the heat washing over him making a blanket unnecessary. Sleep claimed him quickly, his habitual breathing ceasing.  
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"Is he asleep?" Willow asked, not able to see the couch from her seat.

Xander stood and looked, "Yeah. He's completely out." He retook his seat, dishing out another serving of pie for himself.

Buffy sighed, "What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Well, as much as I ordinarily dislike Spike and find him completely untrustworthy, we can't exactly send him out if he's so weak Angel almost kicked his ass." Xander commented.

"But is it safe for us if he stays here?" Willow looked to Giles worriedly.

The ex librarian pulled off his glasses and set them on the table, "I believe so." he said, "Spike has made no move to injury any of us tonight. Even his rather… colorful insults were kept to a minimum."

Buffy nodded, sending Giles a significant glance that the others could not interpret, "What about tomorrow?" she asked.

Giles replaced his glasses, "I feel it best for Spike to remain here for the time being. He is quite weak after all. More importantly, he could help with the slaying significantly."

"Yeah, he has a connection to just about every demon in town. He even knows why the vampires have left the tunnel systems." Buffy said.

Xander looked up, "Oh, I could've answered that. The city is paying to have the tunnels redone. People have been all over the area with machinery the last few weeks. My construction crew is working there too."

Anya smiled endearingly at her boyfriend, looping her arm around his.

"Are we all in agreement then?" Giles asked the group, trying to interrupt before Xander and Anya got more physical.

Everyone nodded, exchanging cautious looks. Buffy's attention was drawn to the couch where she could just make out one of Spike's bare feet which rested atop the arm. He had been rather subdued after Angel's interruption, the fire gone.

Thinking back to her Psych project, she decided to try her hardest to do it justice. Some part of her knew that if she could figure Spike out, life would be so much easier. She would have to be careful though. If Spike figured out what she was doing, she gulped, not even God could save her from the vampire's wrath.


	5. Open Your Eyes

"Oh c'mon that's not a bloody foul!" Spike exploded from the couch, roaring at the television.

Giles winced, half of his tea spilling onto the newspaper he had been trying to read. Ever since the destruction of Sunnydale High School and his subsequent unemployment, he had enjoyed rising late on the weekdays and spending the mornings relaxing. His new "roommate" had complicated matters. Really, how was he to know that vampires did not sleep all day?

"Spike please, the people on the television cannot hear you." the ex librarian tried to sop up the mess before giving up and crumpling up the paper for the trash.

"Sorry Watcher but if you'd seen the call the ref made, you'd be hollerin' too." Spike slumped back onto the couch, bare feet resting on the low coffee table.

The last week had been far from the mess Xander had prophesied it to be. In fact, Giles found he rather enjoyed having someone else living with him. Buffy and the others only visited when something apocalyptic was happening so most of the time he was on his own. Spike was also a wealth of knowledge. Giles had incorrectly assumed the vampire had little care about history. In actuality, Spike was so well versed in vampiric and demonic lore that Giles had been giving him books to read over and correct. It was dull work but Spike seemed to enjoy the fact he knew more than the Watchers Council and seldom complained.

The first few nights, he had erred on the side of caution, lining the stairs to his bedroom with crosses so Spike could not possibly kill him in his sleep. The system had failed when Spike, wanting to have a pizza delivered from the twenty four hour place and lacking a credit card, had put a chair on the dining room table and climbed up to the balcony to bypass the crosses.

Giles had awoken to Spike tapping him like a belligerent child and had screamed loud enough for the vampire to dissolve into laughter. Giles had decided to remove his little defense system after the incident, realizing Spike really did have no intention of harming him - at least for now.

Of course, the new housing arrangement had its drawbacks. Spike was an avid soccer fan. An avid, loud, soccer fan.

Twice already Giles neighbors had pounded on his door and demanded he keep it down. It embarrassed the normally taciturn man to no end, knowing the other people in the condo thought he was loud and irresponsible.

"Bugger that!" Spike was screaming again, arms waving as he threatened the television.

"Really now!" Giles said, thoroughly exasperated, "If you can't keep it down, the television goes off." he warned.

The vampire shot his a nasty look, "Try it mate." he challenged, "Passions comes on soon and I don't intend to miss another episode."

Giles rolled his eyes. That blasted soap opera! He had no idea why it fascinated the vampire like it did, there was no violence or blood in it as far as he was aware. It was a show designed for old retired women, not that he would ever tell Spike that. He rather liked having two legs after all.

The game ended then, Spike muting the end game commentary as he got up and wandered into the kitchen, raiding the fridge. Pulling out a gallon of milk, he reached for the cereal box on the counter and prepared a late breakfast for himself.

Giles watched keenly, he had been keeping track of everything Spike ate. He had been most surprised to learn that, not only did Spike eat human food, but he ingested more than the entire Scooby Gang combined. When questioned about this behavior, the vampire had merely said he still enjoyed the way food tasted.

The response had caused Giles to begin researching other instances of vampires eating human food. He had come up with naught, but that had not dissuaded the Watcher from adding it to a pile of notes that were rapidly becoming the beginnings of a book. For all his research, Giles had never actually considered writing a book of his own. But now, with the perfect specimen living with him, he had found himself donating more and more time to making note of anything unorthodox Spike did.

Like how he was adding the milk in after the cereal-

"I say, did no one ever teach you how to make a bowl of cereal correctly?" Giles asked, standing and walking into the narrow kitchen.

Spike looked at him, confused, "There's only one way to make cereal." he said in a tone that suggested he thought the older man was stupid.

"You-you added the milk after the cereal." Giles pointed at the bowl.

The vampire's brow furrowed, "Well, yeah. That's how everyone does it."

"It most certainly is not!" Giles was not entirely sure why he was getting so worked up over something so simple, "You put the milk in the bowl first and then add the cereal."

"Only a wanker would do that." Spike picked up his bowl and moved towards the living room, throwing over his shoulder, "And if that's the type of conversation you find 'riveting' then no wonder you haven't got a girlfriend."

Giles glared at the other man's back, "At least I've never been obsessed with someone insane." he muttered.

Crash.

The cereal bowl hit the floor, dumping milk all over the living room throw rug.

Giles sprinted into the room with an entire roll of paper towels. Dropping to his knees, he began feverishly trying to mop up the mess, "What the hell have you done?" he snapped at Spike, glaring up at him.

The vampire looked down at him, entire body tensed. A storm was brewing behind his blue eyes, "Shut your gob."

"What?" Giles rose, realizing he was taller than the blond man. He had never actually been this close to the vampire before.

Spike looked as though it was taking a great amount of effort to stop him from attacking the other man, "S'not an 'obsession'. Don't you cheapen it by sayin' that. And don't talk 'bout Dru."

Giles realized he was not equipped to handle an angry vampire. During the last week, he had tricked himself into thinking Spike was no longer a threat. Watching him bear down on him, the Watcher realized he was terribly mistaken.

For a moment, he was sure the vampire was going to kill him. Then the anger unexpectedly left, Spike deflating as he collapsed back into the couch, eyes unreadable.

Still shaken by the outburst, Giles finished cleaning the best he could and retreated to the far side of the room, situating himself behind his desk. Spike had turned the television back on, the Passions theme playing loudly.

This was the first time the vampire had snapped, he had been rather domestic since Thanksgiving. Perhaps it was a mark of his returning strength that he now challenged him over his remarks. It was the first time Giles had brought up the relationship between Spike and Drusilla. While he had known the comment would not be well received, he had never thought it would elicit such a strong reaction.

Reaching into the top most drawer of his desk, Giles withdrew the folder which contained all his notes on Spike. Flipping to the blank pages in the back, he picked up a pen and scrawled -

Obsession vs love

Shutting the folder, he chanced another glance at his roommate. Spike seemed completely absorbed in his show, ignoring the Watcher. Getting up, Giles approached cautiously and sat down in his armchair. The vampire eyed him, blue eyes cold, but did not protest as peace was temporarily re-established.  
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The cold weather that had grasped Sunnydale for the past month had finally dissipated. Heavy coats and jeans were replaced by short shirts and tank tops as the population of Sunnydale University enjoyed the return to humid days just as Thanksgiving break ended.

Buffy had been pleasantly surprised to learn that she had done well on all her midterms, managing mostly B's. She had expected much lower scores considering that, with the increase of demon activity, she had had little time for studying. Inspired, she had begun carving out more time for school work, something which had excited Willow.

A positive change had overcome the redhead since Thanksgiving. She no longer spent time moping, instead hanging out with her friends more often, her smiles genuine. The shadow of Oz's abrupt departure had faded. There was still a hole in their group but it had diminished some.

The scrape of chalk against the chalkboard jolted Buffy from her thoughts. She had unconsciously zoned out again, her notebook covered in idle doodles.

"So class, today I will be assigning the second part of the project you started before break." Professor Glendry turned back to face the students, several words elegantly written in large letters, "You see I have written down family, friends, intimate relationships, and enemies. These are four categories which I wish for you to apply to you subject. Who is their family? How are these relationship? Human connections are important to understanding how someone's mind works."

There was a moment of silence as everyone copied down the words in their notebooks. Buffy read them over, a sinking feeling developing in her gut. She had no idea about Spike's family, the Watcher's Council had never found out who he had been before he was turned. Friends seemed like a bit of a stretch, he had people he tolerated but she had never seen him interact with anyone in a friendly manner. Intimate relationship - just thinking about that made her sick.

Drusilla had used him, incapable of returning his level of devotion. He had been her play thing and the only one who had not seen it had been himself. The only other partner she knew of was Harmony who Spike had treated about as well as a cheap prostitute.

Enemies, that was going to be a long list. Aside from the hundreds of people related to those he had fed from, there was also the Watcher's Council, a collection of demons he had probably ripped off at poker, vampires he had beaten, herself the Slayer…

No, that was not right. Enemies was too strong a word to describe herself and Spike. It was more like… what was it like?

She had seen him every evening for the last week when she stopped off at Giles' so they could go over where she was patrolling that night. The demon problem had become so pronounced that herself and Giles had split a map of Sunnydale into eight sections. Every night, she would take a different one and try to clear out as many creatures as she could. It was not the best system as it left large sections of the town unchecked for several nights in a row but it was the best they could do with only a single Slayer.

Ruefully, she realized that Spike being sidelined was not helping matters. She had never realized just how many demons he killed regularly until he had stopped, the population rapidly increasing as vampire sired with no rhyme or reason. The only thing that had stopped her from hauling him out to help was the possibility Angel was still hanging around. Willow had called Cordelia under the pretense of wanting to catch up and had found out the broody vampire had not returned to Los Angeles since Thanksgiving. He had taken a long vacation and was not expected back in the city until midway through December.

In the meantime all that was keeping Spike from leaving the safety of Giles' was the free meals he was still receiving. Buffy made a run every night at the end of her patrols to the hospital to pick up a few blood bags for his consumption. However, she was sure the doctors would catch on soon, especially when they next did inventory and found themselves a few dozen pints short. After that, security would certainly be beefed up and it would be impractical for her to continue stealing.

Once that happened, she knew Spike would elect to leave Giles and find somewhere else to stay. If he did that, there would be no way to tell whether or not he was feeding on the human population of Sunnydale. Buffy no longer saw him as an enemy but she could not allow a vampire of his strength to eat unchecked.

But was she prepared to kill him? Or, at the least, give him such a bad beating he would leave town. Neither option appealed to her, there was so much violence already, what was the point in adding more?

The bell rang, the room rumbling with noise as everyone rose and stowed their possessions in their bags. Following Willow down the stairs, the two girls exited and headed towards the cafeteria for lunch.

"This Psych project is fun!" Willow said easily as the two joined the short que for food.

Buffy picked up a tray, "So, you already know about your subject's relationships?" she asked, wondering if she was the only one having trouble.

Willow nodded, picking up a salad, "Well, yeah. Maybe I don't know a ton of details, but I think it's enough for the project." she said.

The Wicca had still not revealed who her subject was to Buffy. The blonde did not mind - she was keeping her own secret after all - but sometimes she wished she could tell her friend. For so long she had seen Spike as the enemy, not paying attention to anything besides his fighting style and how he never seemed to shut up.

Absently, she handed over her meal card at the register and followed Willow to a table. The easiest way to do the second part of the project would be to focus on only one at a time. Four different conversations with Spike during four days, that seemed manageable… and meant she would have to put up with a ton of sarcasm.

She could start tonight. He was probably getting antsy, being on house arrest. She could invite him out to patrol with her. Even if Angel was lurking around it was not likely he would try anything for fear of hurting her. After a few kills, she could drop a few hints about her own family and hopefully get him reminiscing.

Her stomach turned at the thought of being deceitful. If Spike suspected she was digging for information about him, she knew he would get snarky and avoid her questions. Besides, she still wanted to know who the old woman who had appeared on Halloween was. She had been so monstrous, had she been a demon?

The sense of familiarity between the two though, it was almost as if they had been close at some point like family or… lovers? She shivered involuntarily as an image of Spike kissing an old wrinkly face flooded her mind.

"Er… Buffy? Are you okay?" Willow asked, watching her friend shutter.

"What? Oh, I'm fine. My sandwich just tastes weird." she lied, setting her lunch aside.

Willow did not look entirely convinced but changed the subject regardless, "So, where are you patrolling tonight?" she asked.

Buffy sighed, "I have to double check with Giles but I think I'm hitting Sunnydale Cemetery tonight."

The town of Sunnydale was home to a half dozen cemeteries of varying sizes. Sunnydale Cemetery, however, was the largest and oldest. There were not many new plots as it was already quite cramped, meaning fledgling vampires rarely rose. Older vampires and demons called the place home, the numerous crypts being prime real estate.

"Do you need help? Xander and I could, you know, stab some things." Willow said, stabbing imaginary vampires with her plastic spoon.

Buffy smiled but shook her head, "Thanks but it's dangerous out there, way more than usual."

"But it sounds like you need help."

It was times like this when she understood why the Slayers before her had not had friends. She was incredibly grateful for Willow, Xander, and Giles, for how they never gave up even when she floundered. But sometimes, she was so afraid of what could happen to them.

"You don't need to worry about me, Willow, I promise I'm careful." When the red head did not look reassured, she continued, "But I get where you're coming from. Actually, I was thinking of taking Spike out with me tonight. I'm sure he's been driving Giles up the walls."

"Spike? But we don't know if Angel is still hanging around." Willow said, the two rising to throw out the rest of their trays.

"I don't think Angel will try anything with me around. Spike was right about one thing at Thanksgiving, Angel's sense of morals get in his own way." Buffy commented.

They set off for their dorm, marveling at the feel of the sun against bare skin.

"Why does he hate Spike so much?" Willow asked aloud, "When they were fighting, he was Angelus again." she paled, "You don't think he lost his soul do you?"

Buffy stiffened, "No way. I mean, he can't have."

It was possible though, they had not been together for several months now. Was it really so unreasonable to think he might have jumped in the sack with someone else? No, Buffy tried to relax, there was no way. Even if he was sleeping around, only copulating with someone he loved would be enough to lose him his soul.

The two dissolved into silence, lost in their own worlds.  
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Spike grunted as Giles turned on the lamp next to him, light piercing through his eyelids. Rolling over, he buried his head into the pillow, trying to block out the irritant. After Passions had ended, he had gone back to sleep, knowing nothing interesting was likely to happen until after dusk.

"Stop complaining. You've been asleep for hours." Giles looked down severely at the man hogging his couch.

Raising his head and squinting against the light, Spike glared, "My sleep schedule's all messed up cause of you lot."

Ordinarily, Spike would stay up all night and fall asleep right before dawn. He would wake up in time for Passions and maybe a snack before relaxing again until dusk fell. Giles however, despite how quiet he tried to be, made enough noise to wake the vampire up constantly. This caused him to take inopportune naps throughout the day whenever the ex librarian went out to run errands or settled down to read.

"I'm sure you'll survive." Giles said, still irritated with the events from earlier in the morning.

The milk stains would have to be professionally removed from his carpet and he did not currently have the funds to pay for it. He had been looking for a job but having Spike around had stalled his efforts. It was not generally a good idea to leave the vampire, who got bored easily, unattended for long.

Giles had found this out the hard way when he had spent an afternoon out shopping and had returned to find Spike had removed nearly every book he owned from their shelves. The vampire had been sitting crossed-legged on the floor, drawing small dicks on the forehead of every picture of Angel he came across with a sharpie.

The resulting argument had gone on long into the night, only stopping when a neighbor had threatened to call the police. Since then, Giles had locked away his precious volumes and only allowed Spike to touch his books if he were supervising.

Rolling into his back, Spike stretched, the muscles in his arms rippling. He was still wearing Giles' old clothes, this time a navy blue tee-shirt and another over-sized pair of jeans. The clothes he had arrived in at Thanksgiving had been thrown out, only his leather duster and boots in good enough condition to remain.

Standing, he ran a hand through his unstyled hair, curls bouncing wildly as he yawned. Though unnecessary, the influx of oxygen flooded his lungs and loosened his chest, dispelling the tight feeling that came from not breathing while he slept.

Shambling in the kitchen, he retrieved a blood bag from the fridge and drained it cold, too impatient to heat it up. The blood tasted stale, his stomach lurching as he drank it quickly. While bearable, he still found the taste a far cry from fresh victims. The first thing he intended to do when his house arrest was over was find a nice woman at The Bronze to feast on.

He scowled slightly, remembering that with all the vampires running around the center of town, it was unlikely he would be eating anything fresh for a long time. The second he was sure Angelus had returned to Los Angeles, he was going to kill every last vampire in Sunnydale… and buy himself more nail polish. His nails needed another coat.

Giles was pouring over his map of Sunnydale, not paying the vampire any mind. Spike had been surprised at how decently the older man had treated him - even after the whole drawing in his books incident.

It felt weird, to be trusted by the same people he normally hunted. Not that he believed this newfound trust to be permanent. Whatever sudden urge to help him had grasped the Watcher was sure to fade soon. Spike knew he must be looking better than he had a week ago. Even without a mirror, he could feel his cheeks had filled out and the bags under his eyes were probably completely gone after so many regular meals. He was feeling stronger, more like the Big Bad he was. Not even William had bothered him much, the ponce staying hidden, which suited the vampire just fine.

Despite this, he was not quite ready to leave, knowing the alternative was living in his car again. He fully intended to stay until the Slayer personally booted him, maybe longer if he could guilt her. The prospect of another week of delivered meals appealed to him greatly and the hot showers.

The only drawback was having to see Xander, but the whelp had made himself suspiciously absent ever since Spike moved in, always coming up with reasons for why he could not meet with the others. Anya dropped by on occasion though and she made the vampire wary. The ex vengeance demon had no qualms with touching him, something he was not accustomed to at all.

When he had been around Angelus, and to a certain degree, Drusilla, there was no such thing as a soft touch. Both had liked to play rough, had gotten off on it. And while Spike was no stranger to the twisted connection between pleasure and pain, the brutality of the others had often bordered on animalistic.

"Oy, Watcher." he called, stepping from the kitchen and approaching the older man.

Giles glanced up disapprovingly from one of his numerous books, "How many times must I ask that you do not refer to me by Watcher?'." he asked

Crossing his arms, Spike replied, "Fine, Rupert then. I need more clothes."

The older man looked the vampire over, sizing him up. Noticing, Spike arched a brow, "Didn't know you batted for the other team." his hands fell to his belt loops suggestively.

Giles sputtered, turning red, "I d-don't know what you are implying but I assure you-" he broke off as Spike laughed, blue eyes glittering.

"Jokin' mate. God, get that bloody stick outta your arse." he snarked, retreating towards the bathroom before Giles threw something at him.

Shutting the door, Spike moved to the rack where the wrinkled towels Giles had used earlier hung. Ignoring these, he pulled a fresh pair from the shelf and set them on the closed toilet seat. Pulling off his shirt, he looked down at his exposed torso. His ribs had filled back out, the bones no longer sticking out.

He had lost a bit of muscle tone, his abs not as defined as he was accustomed to. His new diet and lack of activity had begun to impact his body negatively. First chance he got, he would get out and have some fun with the local demons.

Undoing the over-sized pair of jeans, he allowed them to slide down his legs and stepped out of them. He left the clothes on the floor for Giles to pick up later, he had an image to maintain after all, and turned on the shower. Drawing the shower curtain closed, he stepped into the tub and under the warm spray.

Hot showers were a rare luxury for vampires who lived solely on gambling wins. It was easy to simply break into a motel room for a quick shower but the likelihood of someone calling the police was too high. Spike had learned long ago that police tended to shoot things like vampires and finding a doctor to remove bullets was difficult enough for a human being.

Reaching down, he retrieved a bottle of shampoo and squeezed out a liberal amount, coating his hair thoroughly with the substance. There was no real reason for him to clean his hair aside from removing the previous day's hair gel.

After rinsing his hair, Spike remained in the shower for another ten or so minutes, eyes closed. The air became heavy as the hot water created steam, droplets forming on the walls.

A loud banging jolted the vampire from his relaxed state, "What?" he called, annoyed as he stuck his head outside the curtain.

"You're using all the hot water!" Giles called back, unwilling to open the door after Spike's joke before.

The blond man gritted his teeth. Honestly, who cared if he used up the hot water? The Watcher showered in the morning and no one else ever stayed over.

Giles seemed to know exactly what the vampire was thinking because he yelled through the door, "I have to pay the water bill you know!"

Oh God, poor Giles paid the water bill? Well then, he would just turn the water off and save the poor man a few quid - seriously, that was the man's argument? He was a master vampire, the Slayer of Slayers, the user of all the hot water dammit!

"Would've been done already if you hadn't interrupted." he stalled, hoping to get a few more minutes.

Giles patience, which he had been trying all day, was finally spent though. The door was unceremoniously flung open as the older man marched in, making for the toilet.

Spike glared at him from around the shower curtain, water dripping into his eyes from his wet hair, "The hell you doin'?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Now beside the toilet, Giles rested his hand on the handle and glared at the vampire, "Turn off the water or I will make you."

The vampire was curious, what did flushing the toilet have to do with the shower? Maybe the older man was bluffing, trying to scare him out. If that was the case, it was an odd choice. Threatening to turn the water off would have been much more effective.

"Do as you like mate." he said, unconcerned, and pulled his head back into the shower.

He heard the older man give a world weary sigh and smirked, thinking he had won. Sticking his head back under the spray, he tipped his head upwards just as the Watcher flushed the toilet. For a moment, nothing happened aside from Giles hastily retreating from the room.

Then the water turned hot… scalding hot.

Yelping, Spike jerked back as he got a face full of the burning liquid. Leaping out of the shower, he grabbed one of the towels he had set aside and rubbed his face vigorously, trying to dry off. The area tingled slightly, the initial pain fading as he finished with the towel.

That damned Watcher! He was going to rip the man apart and bury each of his fingers in a different city!

Throwing the towel across the room moodily, he turned off the water, coming up with more ways to make Giles suffer.

He was so caught up in his vengeance planning, he did not immediately realize that he had no clean clothes. He had been so caught up with making Giles shudder, he not forgotten to get an answer for his original question.

Grabbing the other towel, he looped it around his waist and left the bathroom, searching for the Watches.

"Oi, Rupes, I need some clothes!" he called, wandering into the living room where he found the man he was going to dismember and… Buffy?  
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"Okay, so I should hit just Sunnydale Cemetery then?" Buffy asked Giles as the two went over the map of Sunnydale spread on the table before them. She had arrived a few minutes ago for one last check in before patrol.

Giles nodded, "It is the largest cemetery and therefore has the capacity to contain more vampires and demons than the others."

Buffy nodded, lips pursed as she looked over the marked area. She had packed her crossbow and a dozen stakes for tonight along with a silver dagger but it somehow all seemed underwhelming when compared to the map. It was all the more reason to bring Spike with her. She knew he was antsy, Giles looked rather disheveled which spoke volume to how stir crazy the blond vampire must be.

She had not seen much of Spike that last week, embarrassment over using him for her Psych project making her avoid him when possible. Usually by the time she arrived at Giles', the vampire was correcting books.

It was a task that left him blissfully silent, no sarcastic remarks about her dress or lewd looks shot her way. He would sit on the floor with a pen and edit the books, brow furrowed in concentration as Giles looked on.

Buffy had been surprised to know the vampire was so well versed in demonic lore. It made sense of course, she certainly knew more about people than he did, but nonetheless it was interesting to see her self proclaimed "mortal enemy" so absorbed in something she deemed lethally boring.

Turning away from the map, Buffy asked, "Giles, this whole thing seems kinda dangerous for one person."

Of course, he saw through her facade easily. She rarely backed down from a fight without an ulterior motive, "As your Watcher, er… former Watcher, I can attest to your skills." he said.

"Well, actually, I kinda wanted to bring Spike tonight. He must be driving you crazy and I thought a few hours killing stuff would chill him out." Buffy tried her best innocent look, the one her mother knew all too well.

Giles scoffed, his features uncharacteristically harsh, "Oh yes, bring the homicidal maniac out to play." he said sarcastically.

She was surprised, "That bad?" she asked softly.

"Quite." Giles said, removing his glasses, "He's only well behaved because he wants blood. If we were to deny him that, I have no doubt he would leave and start killing again."

Buffy decided to not mention the hospital's growing suspicious thing, she was not sure he could take it, "Did something happen?" she asked.

Replacing his glasses, Giles turned back to the map, "H-he took all my books and drew lewd images on every picture of Angelus he could find!"

It was clear from his tone that Giles thought this a personal injustice and Buffy was careful to not laugh at his stricken expression. Once she trusted herself to speak, she asked morosely, "Can I see?"

Giles pulled a thin leather volume off his desk and handed it over wordlessly, waiting for her reaction.

Opening the book, Buffy rifled through the pages until she came across a familiar face. The picture was old, the original probably done in charcoal. Despite that, the artist had had no trouble catching the essence of Angel down to the amusement in his dark eyes.

And there, above those eyes, sat a childishly drawn dick with the name 'Spike' scrawled underneath. She closed the book loudly, the sharp snap dragging a disapproving look from Giles.

Ignoring this, Buffy looked at him, her face oddly empty, "He did this to every picture?"

"Every bloody one!" he was practically shaking with rage.

It started as just a sigh, a small amount of air escaping her lips. And suddenly Buffy was bent double, laughing.

Giles looked shocked, this was not the response he had expected.

"Buffy?" he asked, approaching cautiously.

She was still bent over, wheezing as tears streamed down her face. Dimly, she was aware she had not laughed like this in a very long time. Righting herself, she grinned at Giles, "H-How many?" she gasped out.

The Watcher did not share her amusement, "You mean how many priceless books did he ruin? At least nineteen."

The high number sent her into a fresh attack of laughter. She had no idea how Spike had gotten the idea to draw on pictures of Angel, nor did she care. All she knew was she could not stop laughing.

"If you'll excuse me, Spike is using all my hot water." Giles said sourly, stalking towards the bathroom.

It took a few more minutes for Buffy to compose herself, though the smile stuck on her face refused to diminish. Moving to where her duffel bag full of weapons laid on the floor, she pulled out her Psych notebook.

She had packed the book for tonight so she could write down her observations on Spike. The first few pages were filled with random notes about demons she had encountered, a decoy in case the vampire happened to get ahold of it.

So far, the only notes she had on Spike were about what she had learned of his "relationship" with Angel and a small note about the elderly woman from Halloween. Underneath this, she drew a line with a pen from Giles' desk and wrote:

Childish sense of humor, doesn't take things seriously.

Giles suddenly rushed back into the room, looking over his shoulder cautiously. Before Buffy could ask what had happened, she heard a rather undignified yell issue from the bathroom. Stowing her notebook, she asked, "Giles, what was that?"

"Spike." he said shortly, returning to the map.

Buffy was uneasy. Whatever trust that had existed between Giles and Spike was beginning to fray. She suspected the two had been purposely getting on one another's nerves which meant there was going to be a fight soon.

"Oi, Rupes, I need some clothes!" an irritated voice called from behind her.

Turning towards the voice, Buffy turned and saw… skin! Pale, naked skin!

Spike was standing before her, wearing only a towel. He seemed equally surprised at seeing her, though his lips were turning up in a leer.

Focusing on a spot above his shoulder so she did not see the defined muscles of his chest or the fact his torso was devoid of hair… focus Buffy!

Spike had read her thoughts, his eyes glittering with interest as he gauged her reaction.

"See somethin' you like, pet?" he asked.

Mind racing, Buffy blurted out, "You're scrawny."

Which was a complete lie of course. The sharp contours of his body held whipcord strength, defined muscles built from a lifetime of fighting. His middle was soft, she noticed, not having to hunt for his food was not doing him any good.

Dammit, why was she still staring?

Spike did not take offense at her words. Instead, her pathetic insult had amused him as it confirmed she had been staring.

"Spike, please put something on." Giles snapped, not liking the faint flush Buffy was sporting.

The vampire rolled his eyes, "Just said I need more clothes." 

Giles strode towards the stairs, fuming, "I have no idea why you feel the need to change your clothes every day. You don't sweat or do anything that would stain them."

Spike crossed his arms, muscles popping, "Like the feelin' of freshly washed cotton." he said, never taking his eyes off of Buffy.

She shuddered at the predatory look in his eyes and resisted the urge to punch him. For the next few nights - until her Psych project was complete - she had to play nice. Or, nicer than normal at least.

"It's good you're not busy correcting books, I wanted to ask you something." Buffy said, schooling her features into a look of indifference.

"Want me to drop the towel? Sorry luv, Rupes wouldn't like that none-"

Forget playing nice, he was asking for another broken nose. Besides, wouldn't he be suspicious if she didn't hit him?

Striding across the room, she tried her best to look dangerous. Spike was not buying it, "Upset? I'll lose the towel of you ask nicely-"

Crack.

He reeled back, clutching at his nose. She had not hit him hard enough to break it, just wanting to get her message across.

"Don't be crude." she barked.

Spike glared, "How many soddin' times," he leapt forward, tackling her, "have you bloody punch my nose?" he growled.

She was pinned beneath him, his hands braced on either side of her head as he stared down at her. Their positions were almost exact to the ones they had been in when she had confronted him the alley. This time though, the killing intent was gone. Spike was certainly ticked, as was she, but neither were actually trying to kill the other.

It was a power play, Buffy realized, he had taken her punch as a challenge. That did not mean she was going to let him get away with it. He had attacked her, albeit provoked.

Drawing her legs up, she pushed hard into his stomach, sending him falling backwards. Rising back to her feet, she gave him the coldest glare she could muster, "Try that again and I will dust you."

"Not bloody likely. If you were gonna kill me, you would've done it already." Spike snorted, getting back to his own feet. It was unfortunate for him that the towel, which had clung resiliently to his hips during the whole encounter, now decided to unknot itself.


	6. Give Me Something

Buffy watched the towel fall in slow motion, frozen. Pale angular hips were revealed, the V created by his toned abdomen leading to a thatch of curly brown hair resting atop-

She dragged her wandering gaze back up, face flaming. Spike was watching her curiously, not seeming to mind the fact he was now naked.

She cared though. Buffy was no prude, she had seen Angel and Parker after all - though the whole sex thing had kinda distracted her from really examining any of their male parts. Her night with Angel had been, well, awkward. Him, having more experience, had guided her through everything. It had felt incredible but there had been a barrier between them. He had not wanted to hurt her and she, as in love with him as she was, could not shake a feeling of inadequacy. If things had not ended the way they had, if Angelus had not returned, she knew they could have created something special. That was gone now, though. Tainted, grotesque.

Parker had been different. His confident that night was tangible and she had fed on it, allowing it to embolden her. Perhaps the fact the room had been dark had played into it some, she was able to keep a small part of herself hidden from him.

Both of those encounters had been fueled by lust, hardly any time taken to truly appreciate what was happening. Now she was standing before a man who had no qualms about how he was perceived and the intimacy of the situation stole her breath. Worst of all, he was still staring at her, looking almost puzzled by the fact she had not screamed or hit him or something.

There was a vulnerability in being naked before others, she knew, clothing being the great equalizer. She expected Spike, despite his massive ego, would act defensive at being so bare before her, his enemy. He was not clutching at his groin, however, to hide himself like most men would have done in this situation. Nor was he acting suggestive, trying to play off the incident by acting like she should be honored. Instead, he simply stood waiting for her reaction.

He was displaying a massive amount of trust towards her, more trust than she would ever consider giving him. She felt a strange sense of inadequacy, remembering all too well what had happened last time he had trusted her. Swallowing hard, she did not move, still frozen by uncertainty. They were standing on ice, the slightly shift in weight would send them plunging into icy darkness.

Spike stooped suddenly, breaking the moment. Picking up the towel, he looped it around his waist and re-tied the knot casually.

"So, what was your question?" he asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

It was broken. Somehow, he had stepped off the ice and left her behind.

She was speechless. How could be possibly be so casual about what had just happened? She was dying inside, literally. The mix of embarrassment, disbelief, and anger, aside from burning off her face, was making her inside writhe.

"What?" she asked dumbly, not able to form a complex sentence yet.

A scarred brow rose at her obvious discomfort. It was not followed by a sarcastic comment, instead Spike seemed to be weighing his options. Normally so easy to read, the vampire's expression gave nothing away and Buffy felt another surge of discomfort.

"You said you wanted to ask me somthin' 'member?" he said, cocking his head.

The movement jostled the curls plastered against his forehead from his shower. She had not noticed his hair before, too caught up in the, er, nudity. It was the first time she had seen it in its natural state, not even any gel in it. She now understood why he slicked it all back. Sitting atop his head like a nest, it certainly did not give off the whole Big Bad persona. Instead it made him look almost bookish, softening the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

"Spike, what are you doing?" Giles stormed down the stairs, pausing when he found the two staring at one another.

The slightest smirk crossed the vampire's features, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards, "Waitin' for you, Watcher. Got my clothes?"

Giles gave Buffy a severe look, one that promised he had something to say about what he had just walked in on. She sighed inwardly, knowing the conversation would not go well. He had seen her blushes and was probably preparing an entire speech about why dating vampires was a bad idea - like she needed any reminders.

He handed the set of clothes to Spike who tucked them under his arm as he retreated to the bathroom to change. No sooner had the door closed that Giles rounded on Buffy, his posture stiff.

"I don't think you should take Spike with you when you patrol." he said sharply.

She rolled her eyes, "Giles, I don't know what it is you think you saw."

"I saw my Slayer staring at a vampire like he were… were a piece of meat!" he was keeping his voice down, not wanting Spike to hear any of the conversation.

By contrast, Buffy made no attempt to lower her own, "That's not what happened! It was unexpected and anyway, I'm barely an adult, don't you remember how you acted at my age?"

Judging by the band candy incident, Giles had been a great deal more promiscuous than he would have them all believe. She felt a rush of triumph as he looked away uncomfortably.

"I- yes I do remember being your age. But Buffy, Spike is hardly more tamed than a feral cat. You mustn't give him the any ideas that you…" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Ideas about what?" Buffy gestured for him to continue. When he remained silent, she said, "Giles, I know what I'm doing, really. Do you honestly think I would ever go out with a vampire after Angel? And seriously Spike?" she wrinkled her nose, "I know my last few relationships have been rocky but never in a million years would I even think about dating him."

Giles looked relieved at her words, "All I ask Buffy, is that you be careful." he said softly and she knew he was concerned for her, her anger evaporating.

"I'm still taking him patrolling. I need help out there, someone to guard my back and I can't ask Xander or Willow to do it. If they got hurt…" she did not continue, not the she needed to. Out of everyone, Giles had always understood the human limitations against vampires.

"If you are quite certain then," he said, shooting a look towards the bathroom before lowering his voice to a mere whisper, "but please use caution. Something is not right about all this."

"Not right? With Spike you mean?" she asked.

He sighed, "I haven't mentioned this to him, I'm not sure even he's aware."

"Kinda wigging me out." Buffy said when he hesitated.

She knew something was up with the blond vampire, the night in the alley solidifying it.

"He has nightmares, violent ones." he said, hazel eyes hooded, "Most of the time he's silent but on occasion, he speaks to someone. He never says the person's name but he argues with them, asking that they 'leave him in peace'. He tells them they are dead and aren't supposed to bother him anymore. Have you noticed any odd behavior?"

Buffy chewed her lip reflexively, feeling the urge to lie. Spike had demonstrated to her that, while he knew some of his actions were out of character, he had no idea why. It seemed unfair somehow to allow Giles to analyze behavior that Spike himself did not yet understand. Besides, they knew little of the vampire. Maybe what they were currently perceiving as odd was merely a byproduct of spending so much time around him and seeing something other than his punk persona.

"I mean, we don't really know Spike all that well. Maybe all this is normal for him." she said, casting a desperate look towards the bathroom to see if the vampire was done changing.

Giles was not ready to let the subject go, "Perhaps, but I think it is worth investigating all the same. He is, after all, spending time with us. It would be wise to learn all we could."

Something about his words made anger coil loosely in her gut. The strong reaction surprised her. Swallowing back the feeling, she said, "I'll see what happens tonight. He's probably bored. Vampires love mayhem and, no offense Giles, your home life is not exactly blood stirring."

"You're the second person today to bring up how rather humdrum my life is." Giles muttered.

The bathroom door was flung open, the door knob hitting the wall with a dull thud that promised to leave a mark in the plaster. Spike strolled out, hands buried in the pockets of over-sized jeans. His hair was slicked back, not a single strand out of place as he swaggered into the living room. Approaching the others, he paused and looked down at the map of Sunnydale still spread across Giles' desk.

"Figurin' out where to patrol?" he asked casually, one slender finger tracing down the map's surface.

"Sunnydale Cemetery." Buffy said, "It has the largest population of vampires."

Spike nodded, "Not surprisin'. Sunnydale Cemetery was prime real estate even before everything went wonky. Tried to find a place there myself but it's so overrun that a bloke can't claim so much as a gravestone for 'imself."

Replacing his hand in his pocket, he looked to Buffy expectantly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"What?" she asked, avoiding looking directly at him. The towel incident, still fresh in her mind, was not something she felt herself capable of overcoming just yet.

He rolled his eyes and addressed the ceiling, "You had a question for me."

"Oh. Right." still not making eye contact, "Well, I was wondering if you were game for some violence tonight."

There was no need to look at him, she could feel his reaction. Energy was crackling off the vampire, his presence somehow increasing.

"Need some help then?" he asked, a flash of arrogance in his tone.

Still on edge, Buffy snapped waspishly, "Hardly. I want to give Giles a break."

"Oh, doin' this for the Watcher?" Spike asked softly, predatory. Suddenly, he was directly in front of her, his face a few millimeters from her own as he surveyed her, "Why don'tcha want to look at me?" he asked.

She jerked back, resisting the urge to deck him in the face. Maintaining her composure, she replied, "Why would I look at you? And why do you care?"

This felt alright, the exchange of barely concealed insults was familiar ground for the two of them. Verbally sparring with Spike took concentration and subsequently, pushed out the knot of emotions she was harboring.

"If you two want to argue, then please get out." Giles groaned, knowing that once the two started, nothing short of an apocalypse could end the malicious banter.

"Sorry Giles, we'll go now." Buffy apologized, reaching for her duffel bag of weapons.

Spike, however, was not ready to call it quits. Whatever dam he had been bottling his razer comments behind had now been broken, "Just a mo', I never said I was goin' with you."

Oh she could dust him - think of your Psych project Buffy, you can't kill your subject. The moment the semester ended, she was calling open season on Spike.

"Then don't." she said shortly, making for the door. An hour of patrol time had already been lost and she was not keen on wasting any more.

A frustrated growl sounded behind her and she hid a grin as Spike rushed to follow, shoving on his boots hastily, "Stupid bint." he muttered.

She allowed the insult to slide, for now. She had not been lying about needing more help. With so many demons, it was almost impossible to guard your back at all times and twice in the last month she had nearly made fatal mistakes. None of this had been reported back to the others of course, she did not want to worry them unnecessarily. Besides, if they thought she was in danger, they were more likely to try and help, putting themselves in danger.

Much like Halloween night, Spike followed her, a mere shadow. She had assumed he was going to be noisy and talkative but the most he had done since leaving Giles' was light a cigarette for himself. It was not good, him being quiet. She needed him to talk in order to get the information for her project and starting civil conversation with the vampire had never been her strong suit.

Luckily, he was unable to keep his mouth shut for long and no sooner had he finished his smoke, grinding the stub beneath his boot, that he started, "So, what are we huntin'?" His tone was remarkably casual, a distinct difference to the excited energy that continued to roll off him in waves.

"Anything. Everything." she replied, focusing her attention on their surroundings.

Spike sighed, coming alongside her left side and matching her step for step, "Oh, is that all?" The slightest edge making his tone hostile.

"What, too much for you to handle?" she asked, increasing her pace slightly. Being shorter than the vampire, this attempt to out-walk him was doomed to failure, his longer legs catching up without any real effort.

"Hardly. Just thought you and the Watcher would have come up with a better plan is all." he said smugly.

She had to play nice, difficult as he was making it for her to do so, "What's wrong with our plan?" she asked through gritted teeth.

If Spike sensed her dwindling temper, he ignored it, "Well, you've got three main problems right? The old demons and vamps are powerful, they've got centuries of experience and magic to fall back on. Then there's the fledglings. People always underestimate the newly risen. They may not be strong but they keep on comin'. Most dangerous too, can't help but attack every livin' thing with blood they meet."

Buffy found herself listening to Spike attentively, thinking over what he had said. His analysis of the situation made sense and for a moment she understood why Giles had wanted him to correct his books.

"You missed a group." she noted, though there was nothing accusatory in her tone.

He nodded, "Well, third group's everythin' in the middle. Those are the vampires who are doin' most of the sirin' and killin'. Their like teenagers, no fear but they also have enough experience to survive."

His voice had changed, she noticed, the rougher edge of his accent softening as he talked.

"Well, now that you've laid everything out like that, what are we supposed to do?" she asked, interested.

Her eagerness must have shown because Spike chuckled, "Hell if I know." he said, "You're the Slayer. I reckon you'll figure it out on your own, luv."

God was he infuriating! Every time Buffy thought they had broken through old issues, he would revert back to his Big Bad persona. If not for the fact an important grade hung in the balance, she would have cut him off long ago.

'No you wouldn't.' she thought, resigned. For whatever reason, it was impossible for her to look at Spike as a mere enemy. She tried to fool herself, pretend her only interest in him was for the Psych project. But a part of her, ever since he had given her the Gem of Amara, had been searching for something in the vampire. She had no idea what she was looking for, he had no soul, no sense of morals, no manners - nothing! He wore the face of a human but he was not one, it was a mask.

And beneath it? After all this time hunting vampires and killing demons, she had thought there was little else to surprise her. Of course, she had not encountered every evil thing in the world, she doubted she ever would. But, in essence, all these beasts had been the same - violent killers.

Spike had his share of blood on his hands, more if she were to believe all the rumors in Giles' books. He was a creature of the dark just as much as she belonged to the light. Their paths ran parallel and never should they meet, least one be destroyed. Sometimes though, his zircon eyes would glow with humanity. He would cross the border to her side, almost effortlessly, and, for a moment, he was no longer a soulless demon. It was so brief, sometimes she thought she imagined it - a mere spark, gone before she could reach out and grasp it.

"Are you paying attention?" his dry remark broke her musings.

His brow was furrowed as he surveyed her, footsteps ceasing. Ruefully, she realized they were at the entrance to Sunnydale Cemetery - she had been so busy thinking, she had neglected to stay aware of her surroundings.

"Shut up." she told him, her go to insult when she could think of nothing else.

Reaching into her duffel bag, she withdrew two stakes, holding out one for Spike. He eyed it cautiously before reaching out slowly and taking it from her. His fingertips grazed her hand, the barest brush against her hot skin. Goosebumps were left behind, the difference in temperature leaving a trail of round bumps from the contact.

Exhaling sharply, she glared at him, preparing a speech on how he was never to touch her. Spike, however, was completely enthralled by the stake he was now twirling between nimble fingers. Testing its balance, he flicked it back and forth, taking out imaginary enemies.

She watched, interested, as he moved. Rarely was she in a position to watch a vampire as skilled as Spike fight as their target was, traditionally, herself. His movements were controlled, every limb moving in a pre-arranged pattern. Now she understood why he always referred to fighting as dancing, his body sliding into coordinated motions that spoke of years of practice.

When he stopped, she was almost - disappointed?

Sticking the stake into the waistband of his jeans, Spike focused on the area beyond the wrought iron fence that separated the graveyard from the neighborhoods.

"Bloody hell, place is crawlin' with beasties." he sniffed, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply.

Buffy tried to push everything else from her mind, she needed to focus for the long fight ahead.

"What did you expect?" she asked, stepping past the opened gate and entering the cemetery.

Spike was at her heels, the faint swish of his leather coat the only indication he was near. Both had slipped into predatory mode, straining to locate any other presences.

The first few lines of gravestones were bare, not even a bird present. As they approached the first of many crypts, however, Buffy saw a brief movement to her right. She halted, Spike stopping behind her.

"What is it?" he asked, raring to go.

She did not take her eyes off the spot, trying to locate what had moved. Spike's energy was infectious though, her heartbeat accelerating at the prospect of the hunt.

"Don't do anything stupid." she hissed, ghosting forward.

He was so close, his breath cool breath curling against her ear, "Wouldn't dream of it, pet."

She shivered involuntarily, her attention slipping.

"If you get us killed…" she threatened, approaching where she had seen the movement

He chuckled darkly, "You'll what, kill me in the afterlife? I don't think we're goin' to the same places when we die."

She did not bother responding, starting an argument now would draw every demon within ten miles to them. Right now she needed to focus. A large part of what would make tonight successful was hunting quietly. That meant to quips, no flashy moves, and no-

"Spike!" she whispered loudly as the vampire lunged around her, launching himself into the shadow cast by a withered tree.

There was a grunt and Spike reappeared, another form in his iron grip. He threw what she recognized as a vampire against the ground, following up with a sharp kick to the rips. The prone form shrieked, howling in pain.

"What are you doing? You're one of us-" the rest of the statement was cut off as Spike drove his stake into the vampire's heart, dust erupting around him.

The kill had been fast, over in a few seconds. Standing, he shook his head like a dog, sneering at the pile of dust at his feet.

"One down then." he remarked, kicking the small pile over.

Buffy was fuming. Stalking towards the vampire, she snarled, "We need to be quiet! Are you trying to get us killed? Every vampire in town heard you!"

He grinned, tongue peeking out from between his teeth, "It's more fun when the prey knows you're coming."

His words conjured images of the vampire stalking crying children. She knew from her reading that it was Drusilla who liked to feed on kids. After witnessing the relationship between the crazed vampire and Spike though, she doubted he would have denied her request for children while she had been weakened.

"You're disgusting." she admonished, realizing - for the first time - she actually meant it.

Her words were not said with any more hate than usual but something about her tone made the vampire's smirk falter. A surly look replaced his euphoria, the electricity in his eyes fading to stormy grey.

"That's why you brought me luv. You wanted a killer, not some ponce who pisses 'imself in a fight."

His entire demeanor had shifted, all the excitement had been reeled in leaving him looking rather bored. Buffy turned away, unwilling to dwell on the change. There were still demons crawling all over the cemetery and they needed to hurry up.

"Let's go." she said shortly, not bothering to check if Spike was following her as she walked away.

It was well after midnight by the time the exhausted pair reached the opposite side of the cemetery. They had cut a truly devastating path through the area, killing a good two dozen vampires and a handful of other demons.

Buffy stopped by a bench just inside the gates, sinking onto it with a groan. She clasped her left shoulder with her hand, trying to rub out some of the soreness. Heat radiated from the injury, noticeable even through the fabric of her shirt, promising some major swelling by the morning. She hoped it would not become too obvious or else Giles would notice and she so did want to tell him how she had been thrown right off the roof of a crypt…

"Still hurts?" Spike asked, flopping down besides her.

He had not fared much better, worst even. When fighting, she was usually the main target. Many of the local vampires, however, had not taken kindly to Spike helping out the Slayer. A deep laceration down his cheek from a crowbar was still leaking blood, staining the orange shirt Giles had lent him.

"Yeah but it'll be fine." she said, removing her hand from the injury.

The night had gone well, injuries aside. Spike had worked well with her, protecting her weaker left side. He already knew all her moves and had adapted his own style to compliment her's. Who knew all those life or death battles with him would actually come in handy one day?

"Want a pull?" Spike asked, holding out a lit cigarette.

"Eww, no!" she wrinkled her nose and scooted as far from him as the bench allowed.

He stuck the stick between his lips and leaned his head back against the bench, eyes closed. Buffy pulled her duffel bag onto her lap and opened it, searching for a printed list Willow had given to her earlier. Her hand brushed against the hard cover of her Psych notebook, reminding her of why she had taken Spike along to begin with. Moving it aside, she fumbled for a lone piece of paper at the very bottom of the bag.

Spike's eyes snapped open, the crinkling of the paper rousing him, "What's that?" he asked.

"It's a list of graves new vampires might rise from. Willow goes through the police records every evening before I leave and makes a list."

"Red does that? I thought she was all innocent." he replied, leaning over to get a better look.

Buffy smiled in spite of herself, "Actually, she's quite the accomplished hacker."

"Hang on," Spike said warily, "Does that mean more work?" He looked stricken at the prospect.

"Well, yeah. It's like you said earlier, fledglings are dangerous because they have no control when it comes to feeding." Buffy replied, folding the paper neatly and placing it in her jacket pocket, "And I thought you were all for violence. Why the change in tune?" she teased gently.

The cigarette bobbed between his lips, "I do. Just seems like a lot is all."

"I do this every night you know." she said, slightly miffed he was tired.

A part of her knew she was being unreasonable - only a week ago Spike had been too weak to take on anything stronger than a puppy. The human blood had healed him physically, he no longer looked as though he were starving, but his energy had yet to return. She had noticed him lagging behind after only getting through a third of the cemetery, his movements becoming stilted. Yet never once had he complained.

"Yeah well, I don't. I dunno where you all got it in your heads that I just kill and sleep." he dropped the cigarette stub to the ground, crushing it under his boot.

Buffy resisted the urge to give a scathing retort, they still had four graves to visit tonight and neither of them were at one hundred percent. Spike was leaning forward, elbows on his knees with his hands loosely hanging between his legs. He was staring at the ground so she could not make out his expression but his slumped posture betrayed how tired he must have been.

"I don't think that." she said softly, scooting a little closer.

He eyed her from the corner of his eye, "That right?" he asked curiously.

She nodded. Drawing him into a normal conversation would make asking questions about his family easier. In his exhausted state, she doubted his brain was alert enough to filter what he was saying. Hopefully, he would let something she could use slip. She was going to talk about her relationship with her father, pretend to be seeking answers. If she as lucky, he would talk about his own experiences with his family.

It was not deception, at least, not in her opinion. He knew so much about her, having stalked her most of Junior year. Yet she knew nothing about him aside from what his inflated ego had divulged in an effort to scare her. At least the information she wanted would not be used to hurt him...  
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Bloody hell, everything hurt. The cut to his cheek had finally stopped bleeding once they had paused to rest on the bench but it still smarted. Unused muscles were screaming in protest, the sudden rest making them ache after working so hard.

Buffy was sat beside him, looking just the same as when they had first started patrolling. He had spent most of the night watching her fight, the elegance of her movement demanding his attention. Her style was a mixture of kicks and punches, coordinating the two as only a seasoned fighter could. Most of the vampires they had come across had been dusted before they had even realized she was there. It made his blood boil to know such talent was being wasted on fledglings. She should be fighting masters, gods even, not the riff raft of the Hellmouth - okay, that was a little too poetic even for him.

She was rifling through her bag, searching for something. Even with his eyes closed, his heightened senses caught every movement she made. The crinkling of paper roused him, eyes opening. She had a piece of printer paper in her grasp, several words scrawled across it.

Leaning over to get a better look, he asked, "What's that?"

"It's a list of graves new vampires might rise from. Willow goes through the police records every evening before I leave and makes a list." she replied, perusing the list with pursed lips.

"Red does that?" he asked though most of his attention was caught by that pouting lip, "I thought she was all innocent."

He missed her next words, watching her lips move as she talked. It wasn't he was interested in her personally per se, more so in any woman. He had seldom been without female company for long, a few weeks at most if Dru needed some time away from him. He missed those soft caresses, gentle fingers playing across his flesh. A slight swelling in his jeans warned him his thoughts had strayed into dangerous territory.

Wrenching his eyes away from the blonde, he refocused on her paper, "Hang on," he said suddenly, realizing its implications, "Does that mean more work?"

His body was not ready for another go around. He had pushed himself too far tonight and just wanted to go back the Watcher's flat.

"Well, yeah. It's like you said earlier, fledglings are dangerous because they have no control when it comes to feeding." Buffy replied, folding the paper neatly and placing it in her jacket pocket, "And I thought you were all for violence. Why the change in tune?"

Her tone was light and he found himself relaxing in spite of himself. However, he couldn't help but interpret her words as a taunt. After so many years spend with the worst Hell had to offer, he had been conditioned to expect no kindness. It irked him she was using his words from earlier to pad her argument.

"I do. Just seems like a lot is all." he said, slightly defensive. His cigarette was nearly done, the tip burning dangerously close to his face.

"I do this every night you know." she said smartly.

Tossing the nub of his cigarette to the ground, he put it out with his boot, ignoring the severe look she gave him for littering, ""Yeah well, I don't. I dunno where you all got it in your heads that I just kill and sleep."

Actually, he knew precisely where that image had come from. It was the one he had carefully honed for terrifying others, one born from the lessons Angelus had taught him. Thinking of the ponce soured his mood, reminding him why he needed a babysitter. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. The position stretched his back, easing some of the tension there.

This whole thing was bloody unfair.

He had never been one to shy away from a fight, even as a fledgling. But now here he was, the Slayer of fucking Slayers, being protected by the thing he hunted. He had put on a casual face, pretending to get along with everyone. Sure, fighting with the Watcher had been fun and everything the first few times but now? He wanted to leave, leave this sodding place and never return.

Drusilla was why he had stayed so long. He had assumed that she would grow bored with her fling and come back to him months ago. As times passed, his hope had dwindled. Harmony had been a good physical distraction but now even she had left. He really had become pathetic, trailing after women for their affections. And the worst part was he would willingly give and give until they sucked him dry.

Love's bitch did not even begin to cover it.

"I don't think that."

Her voice, soft as it was, pierced straight through the cloud of melancholy that had settled around his head. He turned, watching her from the corner of his eye. She had moved closer to him, only a few feet separating them.

"That right?" he asked.

She nodded confidently, "You're a lot of things besides a killer."

Something was off, she was being far too nice. The blinders Buffy always seemed to wear around Angelus did not apply to him, they never would. He knew that every time she looked at him, she was seeing that night in the high school all over again.

He laughed bitterly, wondering what she was trying to accomplish, "I dunno 'bout that, luv."

"I'm serious!" she said, that overly friendly tone still in place.

He returned his gaze to the ground, "Shouldn't we be movin' on?" he asked, "Gotta attend to those new risers right?"

"Oh, yeah." she sounded almost disappointed.

She looked dejected, as though he had robbed her of something important. A wriggling sensation behind his unbeating heart startled him. For a wild moment, he wondered if somehow the organ had come back to life and was beating. The irrationality of such a preposterous assumption was dispelled as he felt the emotional hole in his gut - which had scarred over - open a little.

A raw sense of loneliness swept through him, bringing memories he had all but forgotten existed. Reading his poetry to a laughing crowd, women denying his offer to walk them home, his mother wearing far too much clothing for a summer evening and coughing weakly by the window…

'Sod off William.' he thought savagely, trying to block the influx of memories. Every time the Victorian managed to slip by the demon, he split him open a little more, freeing all manners of things he had sectioned off long ago.

"You okay?" he asked Buffy, the need to treat her as a proper lady tickling at his brain.

She looked up sharply, "Yeah. Why?"

He was going to claw the prat out of his chest with his own fingernails if this continued much longer. The last two weeks had gone by without a visit from William - Spike had assumed he had vanished, the demon destroying that last bit of humanity. Every time he returned, the vampire felt himself weaken. The barriers in his brain, the ones had kept him sane, were beginning to strain. There simply was not enough room inside of him to contain all the emotions that made up the Victorian.

"No reason." he said tightly, "Just thought you'd be excited to finish up."

"I am! Let's go." she jumped to her feet hurriedly, leading the way out of the cemetery.

Her sudden mad dash caught Spike off guard and it took the span of several blocks for him to catch up with her. His aching legs protested but he knew better than to stray from her side. Regardless of all the bravado he put up, he knew Angelus was out there somewhere biding his time. Spike did not fear his grandsire ordinarily but even he knew better than to pick a fight when he was weakened.

William was still inside, he could feel him.

Trying to distract himself, he called to Buffy who was still a good twenty feet ahead, "So, what has you all out of sorts?"

She slowed enough for him to catch up, "It doesn't matter." she said, deflecting.

He knew he was going to regret this but, "You'd best spill. After all, I'm putting my unlife in your delicate hands."

The resistance he was expecting did not come. Instead, she replied, "Just… thinking about my dad."

Spike blinked. During all his time in Sunnydale, never once had he seen or heard mention of Buffy's father. He had assumed the man was dead or something.

"Your father?" he asked uncomfortably.

Unfortunately, Buffy did not seem to notice his reaction and continued, "Yeah, he doesn't visit very often… or at all." Bitterness tanged her words, "Ever since I became the Slayer, our relationship has gotten kinda nonexistent."

"He doesn't like that you fight vampires?"

"No, he doesn't know. All those times I was getting into trouble, he thought I had just fallen in with a bad crowd or something. When me and mom moved, I thought he would keep visiting and stuff. I never thought he'd just… stop." she said, wringing her hands in the strap to her bag.

"Oh. Real wanker then." he said awkwardly, William goading him to comfort her even though that went against, well, every other fiber of his being.

"Yeah." she chuckled weakly, "I just… I want to reconnect and everything but I don't know how. How do adults even talk to one another?"

He got what she was hinting at, she wanted to know if he had any advice. Paranoia washed over him, he suddenly felt trapped.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I can't really give you any advice. My father died when I was young."

She looked at him guiltily, "Oh. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Which is fine cause I'm not either. I hardly knew him." he said shortly, hoping that was enough to end the conversation.

Obviously it was not as Buffy plowed on, "Oh, were your parents separated?"

"No. He was a gambler… an' a drinker… an' a whore. He got into some trouble with debts and killed 'imself. Left me and mum behind to put everything right again." The words slipped off his tongue so easily, too easily - William had always been loose about personal information. He would have to be more careful, steer the conversation away from the red zone.

"That's… terrible." she said awkwardly, not meeting his eyes.

"That's life." he said flippantly, "People let you down. And 'sides, it happened over a century ago."

Buffy had no response, her eyes downcast as they continued down Spring Trail. The houses on either side was dark and silent. Spike felt as though they were the only two alive, walking a path only they could travel.

"What's it like?" the voice was so small, he could not believe it had come from Buffy.

"What's what like, luv?" he asked.

Her eyes seemed to bore into him, searching. "Dying. Leaving everyone you care about behind."

He stopped short mid-step, one boot poised several inches from the ground, certain he had misheard.

"Run that by me again." he said.

She winced at his casual tone, turning away from him, "Slayers don't get to live a long time. I've died once and I'm barely an adult!" She wheeled around, facing him again, "But what happened to you, it's like dying right? You had to leave behind your family, everything that was important to you… I don't… I can't do that! My mom, Willow, Xander, Giles… what happens to them?"

For once, he had nothing to say. No quip was burning his tongue, not even a chuckle.

"C'mon, you don't want to talk 'bout this." he said, William writhing around in his gut - he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Yes! I do want to talk about this! I need to talk." she said defiantly.

"Well I don't!" He exploded, his stomach felt as though he had ingested rotten pig's blood, a foul taste collecting at the back of his throat.

His outburst had startled her. Taking a step back, she surveyed him with something akin to revulsion, "Oh that's right. I forgot you enjoy being a vampire. It was probably the best night of your life, getting turned into a killing machine!" She was damn near shaking with anger, "Bet you didn't think at all about the people you were leaving behind."

He felt clammy, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. It was getting harder to focus on her, his sight blurring, Still, he remained upright, not a hint of his inner turmoil showing on the outside. Her words were having an odd effect, one part of him wanted to rip her limb from limb for her insolence but the other - William - was wilting at her words, taking them as physical blows.

"You don't know a soddin' think 'bout me." he snarled.

"Maybe it was Drusilla." she continued as if he had not spoken, "You took one look at her and decided to throw everything away. Did you go to your mom's funeral when she died or were you too busy with your skank?"

"Shut up!" he roared, red filling his vision at the same time that William began sobbing, trembles ripping across him.

It was too much for his body to handle.

Sinking to his knees, he vomited, mouthfuls of bile splattering the concrete sidewalk. The stench caused his eyes to water and he vomited again, a violent shaking fit overcoming him. It felt like his entire body was being ripped in two, the hole in his chest he had so meticulously stitched shut splitting open.

Screwing his eyes shut, he grasped his head in his hands, fingers tangling in his hair. He was hardly aware he was still dry heaving, consumed by an ache so deep, so pronounced, it seemed to swallow him whole.

"Spike."

The words were so faint he was not even sure they were real. Everything was caving in, images flashing in his mind so quickly he could not comprehend them. The corresponding emotions, however, hit him, each one tearing like a needle.

"Spike!"

There it was again. But who was Spike? He was William.., yes! That's who he was, William Pratt the gentleman poet. He wanted to open his eyes, to address the voice calling to him but his nervous system refused to obey the simple order.

And then something dark, something obscene reached out. Everywhere it touched, it drained his very essence. William faded, his warmth and light receding. It hurt. God, it was tearing him apart! Hunger tore at him, the need to kill and feed and break.

A feeling of despair, stronger than he had ever felt, crashed into him. He was not the light, not the warmth.

He was the monster.

"Spike! Please, answer me."

Weakly, he reached for that voice, clutching at it. Twice it slipped away, sending him reeling back into obscurity. The edge was so near, so raw. He could feel it pulsing, sucking at him.

"Spike! Snap out of it dammit!"

The desperation fueled him. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he crawled back from the hole. The shadowy tendrils prodding at him withdrew, the feeling of hunger and violence receding. Searching blindly, he slowly regained feeling of his extremities. His toes, he could move them, his legs following. Something cold and rough was digging into his face, the sweat cooling rapidly there.

Finally, he cracked open his eyes.

The world was sideways for him and it took several seconds for his brain to catch up and realize he was lying on his side on the concrete sidewalk. A pair of shoes were by his head and his eyes trailed up them sluggishly, taking in a slim pair of jeans which connected to a white blouse. Blonde hair fell past petite shoulders, an oval face perched on a slender neck…

"Spike?" Full lips moved, a flash of white behind them.

Blinking, he rolled onto his stomach in a push up position and tried to rise. Feminine hands landed on his shoulders, restraining him.

"Hold on a minute, you just had fit or something." Her voice was so soft, concerned.

He lowered himself back down carefully, forehead against the ground as his mind continued to piece together everything. Her hands stayed on his shoulders, rubbing gently, and he felt himself relax against the soothing touch.

A sour scent tinged the air and he wondered who had been sick. Everything was so mixed up, all he could do was focus on those caressing hands. They reminded him of something, a memory he could not dig out. It was like sand, for every handful he dragged away, another two replaced it.

"Spike, you with me?" The voice flowed over him, warmth and attention seeping from it. He drank it in hungrily, suddenly desperate for the offered affection.

"M… m'here." he whispered, his throat so raw his voice was little more than a rasp.

Her hands stilled and she leaned down, blonde hair tickling his cheek. Struggling to turn his head, he was met by green eyes. The two orbs were the color of shamrocks, a ring of soft hazel surrounding black pupils.

He knew those eyes.

"Buffy?" he rasped, head still clouded.

Her face lit up, evidently pleased he knew who she was, "Yeah, yeah it's me." she said with relief.

Buffy. He turned the name over and over in his head and slowly, everything fell back into place. Coming to Sunnydale, attacking the high school, her fighting Angelus, her kissing Angelus, the two of them fighting, her crying…

He was not sure how long he was silent, Buffy giving him the time he needed to get his thoughts back in order. Eventually, he moved it sit up, hands braced on the ground. He felt worn and tattered, as though he had gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali.

Buffy crouched besides him, her knees brushing his side. He reveled in the touch, one born entirely from kindness. Unconsciously, he leaned closer, his body yearning for the close contact of anyone.

"Spike, are you sure you're okay?" her voice was fearful.

"I… what happened?" he asked. What had happened to him had all been inside and he wondered what his physical reaction had been.

"Well, we were fighting and then you were on your knees throwing up." she started, "Then you slumped forward and went all rigid. I tried to snap you out of it but then you started thrashing around. What… was it my fault?"

She sounded terrified at the prospect of having caused his episode.

"Bollocks." he said sharply, "Had nothin' to do with you."

She did not look relieved, much to his confusion. Instead, she was biting her lip, "Spike, what happened?"

He wished he had an answer because right now, he had no fucking idea. From what he had remembered, it was as if the pieces of the demon and what remained of his humanity had been at war. The demon had been angry enough to kill Buffy while William had been anguished at her harsh words. It had torn something inside of him, unleashing all manners of memories and emotions that had been locked away when he had become a vampire.

Even now, he could still feel the hole, a mere pinprick but noticeable all the same. It had been calling to him, threatening to drag him under while his mind had been too fractured to fight back. He wondered what would have happened if he had given in.

Glancing at Buffy, who was still waiting for an answer, he hesitated. Every time William made an appearance, she was always around. Calling her the catalyst was going too far - it was more like something about her made him more vulnerable to William's attacks.

And attacks were exactly what they were. He felt weak. Weaker than when he had shown up at Thanksgiving half starved. His brain itself felt heavy, a dull thud beginning behind his eyes.

"I don't know." he lied, unwilling to share his observations with her. They were enemies after all, all this kindness was temporary. He had caught her off guard and that's all there was to it.

He moved away from her, breaking contact, and ungracefully staggered to his feet. The world pitched alarmingly and a wave of dizziness hit him hard. Blinking rapidly, he kept himself grounded, waiting for the spell to pass.

Buffy stood as well but she kept her distance, close enough to assist him if necessary but far enough to not crowd. He was certain she had not bought his lie but could not be bothered to give a damn. All he really wanted was to go back to Giles' and sleep.

"So, what now luv?" he asked, trying to regain some of his bravado.

Buffy frowned, "We're going back to Giles' obviously. I don't think you could make it much farther than that."

The insult stung his already bruised ego. Once again, she had seen him at his weakest and he felt the need to protect himself, to prove he was capable of taking care of himself.

"You don't need to walk me back. Go an' check the graves from that list Red gave you." His tone was dismissive.

She was already shaking her head, "No way. If Angel found you now you'd be ripped apart. And besides, we killed so many vamps I'm too tired."

It was surprisingly tactful of her to pretend she was too spent to continue. He knew better, she was in rare form, but the sentiment was appreciated all the same.

"Knew you couldn't do it without me." he said, smirking.

Buffy seemed satisfied that whatever had happened had passed, not broaching the subject again as they made their way to Giles'. He knew better though. Whatever had happened had been more than a one off thing. Every time William appeared, he was stronger and the ramifications for Spike were more severe. Morbidly, he wondered if next time would be enough to kill him. He knew he had come close to being sucked under, only Buffy's voice managing to wrench him out in one piece. Had be been alone…

Shuddering, he quickened his pace, forcing Buffy to speed up as well. The sooner he got back, the sooner he could forget all about this.

They had just stepped foot on the Watchers' road when he scented another vampire.

"Buffy." He jerked his head towards the sheltered spot between a house and its detached garage, the faint sound of rustling plastic easy to pick up with his sensitive ears.

"Stay behind me." She ordered, moving towards the spot he had indicated.

He rolled his eyes, did she think he was incapable of taking care of himself? Following her, he rounded the corner and stopped short, several overturned trash can blocking the path. The vampire he had sensed was further back, ripping open black trash bags and searching their contents.

"Don't you know it's illegal to go through someone's trash?" Buffy asked, twirling a stake between her fingers.

The vampire spun around at the sound of her voice, yellow eyes nearly popping out of his head. Abandoning the trash bags he had been rooting around in, he stepped back, almost tripping in his haste.

His focus, however, was not on Buffy, "Y-you're Spike!" he gasped out, reeking of fear.

"Hey! It's me you should be worrying about." Buffy held her stake at chest level indignantly.

The vampire glanced at her, "Who are you?" he asked.

Spike winced at the devastating kick in the groin Buffy delivered to the vampire. As he fell to his knees, she punched him soundly in the jaw.

"Hurry up and finish the bloke off." Spike muttered, too tired to care about the fight.

Buffy threw the vampire into the garage wall, "That's what I'm doing!"

Her lapse in focus was all the beaten vamp needed. Scrambling to his feet, he took off in the opposite direction of Spike.

"Great, now you've lost the prat."

"It's your fault!"

The two continued bickering as they chased down the vampire to the backyard. He was climbing over a tall chain link fence. At the sight of the duo, he yelped and dropped hard onto the other side, taking off again.

Buffy reached the fence first, scaling it smoothly. At the top, she looked down at Spike who was making no move to climb up after her.

"C'mon, he's getting away." she snapped.

The fence was only seven feet high, hardly a challenge for the platinum blonde under normal circumstances. Reaching up, he hauled himself to the top, body trembling with the effort. Balancing precariously at the top, he groaned.

"I can't keep this up." he said wearily.

"Well the faster we catch him, the faster we go home." Buffy dropped to the other side, waiting impatiently for him to follow.

He was dizzy again, dark spots dancing before his vision. He climbed down carefully, "Then just leave me here." he grunted, almost losing his balance when his feet hit the uneven ground.

"No way! What if you have another one of those attacks?" Buffy asked, already following the other vampire between two houses - essentially leaving him behind anyway.

Spike sighed, maybe he should not have pretended he was fine after his little episode with William. He walked the same way Buffy had disappeared, the scent of her coconut lotion guiding him. His instincts warned him dawn was only a few hours away, the moon already beginning its descent. He contemplated turning back - Buffy was the Slayer, she could take care of herself against one half starved vampire.

What he really wanted right now was a cigarette. His nerves were shot, having been pulled taut for most of the night. Buffy's style of hunting was nothing like his own. She had wanted to be all quiet and sneaky, preferring slow approaches and silent kills so as to not attract unwanted attention. And while not even he could deny the strategy worked well, it meant he had had to squash nearly every instinct he possessed.

What could he say? He was impatient, always had been.

"Wait! You're the SLAYER!" an agonized voice screamed, sounding from just ahead.

Quickening his pace slightly, Spike found himself in someone's vegetable garden. Buffy and the vampire were further back, exchanging blows. Even as he watched, Buffy picked up a pumpkin and smashed it into the demon's head.

"Hurry up." He hissed, aware of the fact they were in a neighborhood full of people. The last thing he needed was for someone to call the police and report a disturbance.

He needn't have worried though as at that moment, the vampire Buffy had been fighting exploded into dust.

"Finished?" he asked, wading through the vegetables to reach her.

She was staring at the ground, not moving.

"Hey," he said, coming up besides her, "Can we go home now or what?"

She looked at him, confused, "I didn't stake him."

"What?" he asked. There was a pile of dust at his feet and she was holding a stake. It made perfect sense to him what had happened.

"I was going to but then, he exploded." she looked to her stake wonderingly.

"Well, if you didn't stake him luv, who did?"


	7. Behind Blue Eyes

Music throbbed through the crowd, the base turned so loud it made Buffy's eardrums rattle. She was perched on a high stool, elbows resting on the small table as she watched the dancing teens. Rather, she was focused on one dancing teen.

Xander was all gangly limbs as he moved with the music, far more confident than the dark humored boy she had met four years ago. He had convinced her to go to The Bronze tonight for a bit of fun and, watching him dance, she felt much as she had upon first arriving at Sunnydale.

She turned to the chair besides her, intending to say something witty only to remember that it was empty. They had invited Willow to come with them but, as was becoming the norm, she had declined in order to spend more time with another college student she had met through her failed Wicca group.

Buffy was not jealous, she was happy to see Willow making new friends, but sometimes she felt that the Scooby Gang was beginning to drift apart. It was a part of growing up, meeting new people and stuff, but sometimes she missed when it had just been them and Giles against the world.

Xander flopped down into the other seat then, dark hair lank with sweat, "Sure you don't want to join me?" he grinned.

"And cramp your style? No thanks." Buffy said, pushing Willow to the back of her mind for the time being.

Ever since Thanksgiving, there had been a barrier between her and Xander. Tonight was the first time she had seen him in two weeks and both were overcompensating, their banter feeling forced.

"Suit yourself then." he shrugged, stealing a drink from her solo cup. He nearly spat the liquid out, face twisting, "What the Hell is this stuff?" he asked, thoroughly repulsed.

"Diet soda." she plucked the cup from his lax grip and took a small sip, watching him over the rim.

"Diet soda? How dare you!" he said with a mock look of horror, "This is an insult to all carbonated beverages!"

She snorted, a genuine smile making itself known. God had she missed this. The last few weeks had been filled with studying and slaying, leaving her no room for her friends. Even Giles had noticed her burning the candle at both ends - he was the one who had advised she relax a bit before patrolling tonight. Of course, shirking her duties for an entire evening was unconscionable. Despite Spike and herself managing to dust a good two dozen vamps yesterday, she knew the undead ranks would not be depleted for long.

Last night… whoa.

She could count the number of times she had been truly terrified on one hand (excluding insect related incidents). Last night had definitely made the list. For as long as she had known him, Spike had been a literal pillar of strength. Broken back, broken spirits, it had seemed nothing perturbed him. So to watch him break down completely had been a nasty shock.

They had been arguing and she had said some things that, in hindsight, had bordered on cruel. But he always gave as good as he got and she had been too stubborn to relent. Then, he had fallen to his knees and thrown up. The violence of the action had startled her, it was as though he were being ripped in half. His entire body had spasmed with the force of his vomiting. Once he collapsed, the shaking had intensified to the point she had thought about physically restraining him.

She did not know how long she had called his name, desperate for some sort of response. At one point, she had tried to touch him, hoping to jolt him out of it. Instead, her physical closeness had only upset him more, his eyes wild with anger and an agony unlike anything she had ever seen.

The look in his eyes, it was the look of a man who had lost absolutely everything.

Once the fit had subsided, she had taken him back to Giles', afraid it would happen again. He had been so much weaker afterwards, she suspected only his own pigheadedness had kept him from face planting.

Running into the fledgling had been bad luck, the chase over exerting Spike further. In the garden though… she had been certain she had not dusted the vampire. Her stake had not even made contact with its chest before it had exploded into dust. She had intended to investigate but by that point, Spike had finally given out. Practically carrying him back to Giles, she had decided to, for the time being, let the matter rest.

"Earth to Buffsters." Xander called, snapping his fingers under her nose.

"Huh?" she asked eloquently, feeling guilty - Xander had taken off work tonight so they could hang and here she was zoning out.

Some of the excitement had faded from his face, "What were you thinking about? You went all frozen on me."

"I'm sorry. It's just, I feel guilty I'm not out patrolling yet." she said, which was partly true at least. If he knew the real reason she was not paying attention, well she knew how petty her friend could be.

Xander nodded, suddenly serious, "It's okay, I get it. I feel the same way. I mean, I can't help you and it's driving me crazy."

She felt a rush of affection for him, "I know. We've always been a team, the three of us."

"I just wish me and Will had known what we were signing up for Sophomore year." he joked, "You know," he continued, serious again, "I never did thank you."

"Thank me for what?" she asked perkily.

"For letting me tag along all these years. I know I'm no good at magic or research, but you always made me feel included."

She reached out, grasping one of his hands over the table top, "Xander, I should be thanking you. No matter what happened, you had my back."

"Not always." he contradicted, "When you came home after running off to Los Angeles I was the biggest jerks in the history of jerks."

She could not disagree. The time after she had come home had been some of the darkest for her. While Giles had just been glad she had come home, her mother had treated her like a bomb liable to blow everything up. It had saddened her to know her mom had continued living status quo after her disappearance. The immature part of her had thought everything in Sunnydale would have frozen while she was gone and, upon her return, life would just pick up right where she had left it.

"That's all in the past now." she said firmly, trying to push past the sense of melancholy that had settled over the table.

If Willow was there, she would have said something witty and made them all laugh.

"Hey," she said, unwilling to part company with Xander just yet, "Walk me to Giles'?"

He nodded, bouncing to his feet, "Why, of course m'lady." he said, eyes twinkling again.

Shrugging on her jacket, she linked her arm around his at the elbow and allowed him to escort her out, relishing the last few minutes of normalcy.  
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He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

It was stupid really, being scared of nightmares at his age. He was over a century old. That was plenty long enough to grow out of the habit, metaphorically speaking.

He blamed it on Buffy and that stupid fledgling from last night, that's what had pushed him from simply exhausted to nearly comatose. She had basically carried him back to the Watchers' and lectured him about the dangers of "overdoing it" the whole bloody way.

Being practically unconscious, he had not dreamt a smidgen, awaking around noon to find Rupert still irate about the whole wearing a towel around Buffy thing. He was glad the Watcher had no idea the cloth had fallen and left him nude for the Slayer's wandering eyes to enjoy.

His body, even after spending twelve hours unconscious, had still been tired though. He had fought the urge to succumb to sleep for several hours, watching television programs from the Spanish channel to give him something to do - one could not translate fast if they were half asleep.

Unfortunately, the Spanish soap operas had only served to enrage Giles more. The Watcher had spent the better part of the afternoon at his desk reading one of the books from his personal collection. The sound of pages turning had lulled him into a relaxed state and he had not even noticed when Rupert turned off the television, sleep already gripping him...  
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He was lying on a bed, white sheets pooled around him. The tall bedposts were ornately carved and for a while he simply marveled at the detail. He had no idea where he was but everything was so comfortable, so safe, that he did not care.

Then he heard her. It was a voice as soft as new kittens, promises of love lurking in her tone.

Drusilla.

Sitting upright, he realized she was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a flowing red gown edged in lace. Her hair was done up, a few loose tresses falling to her shoulders.

"My White Knight has returned." she simpered, extending her arm towards him.

He scrambled forwards eagerly, desperate for her. Adoration burned within him, the need to simply hold her threatening to overcoming him. He had missed her so much, it was if she had left a piece of his essence. Kneeling on the bed, he kissed her offered hand feverishly, "Dru, luv." he said breathlessly.

His chest ached from being so close to her, thirsting for her affections. Stroking the back of her hand, he stepped off the bed and embraced her.

"Oh my poor Spikey, did someone hurt you?" she asked, cupping the side of his face.

Leaning into her touch, he surveyed her from half closed eyes, "Not hurt, not anymore. You're here now my darling." tightening his grip, he lowered his head to her shoulder, the scent of her perfume engulfing him, "Where were you pet? I was waitin' for you."

"Waiting?" she asked, slender fingers rubbing through his hair, "The pixies said you were a bad dog who played with sunshine. And Princess punishes her dog."

The emphasis she placed on the word dog did not even register in his euphoric clouded mind, "Punishment over then?" he asked, turning his head to press his lips against her neck.

At the contact she unexpectedly drew away, leaving him suddenly cold. Swallowing back his protest, he eyed her, "Luv, what's the matter?"

But Drusilla was no longer smiling. Her brow was furrowed as she looked him over, "You lied to Princess!" she explained sharply.

"Lied? About what?" he asked, stepping forward to hold her again.

She allowed him to approach but when he raised his hand to touch her, she grasped his wrist tightly, "You're all dark inside." she said, eyes traveling around the room lazily.

"Yeah, we're vampires remember?" he said, resisting the urge to tug his hand free of her grasp. Drusilla liked to play her little games, there was no point in him pushing her. When she was ready, she would let go and they could dance all night.

Her nose wrinkled at his words, her eyes suddenly clearer than he had seen his decades, "I smell him." she spat.

"Who?" he asked, wincing as her grip on his wrist tightened.

"William!" she said, "He's inside."

Without warning her free hand plunged straight through his chest. His entire body was numb and he stared down uncomprehendingly at where her hand had ripped through him. Blood poured out of the massive wound, running down his stomach and legs.

He could feel her hand searching through him, pushing organs aside curiously.

"Do people really need all these to stay alive?" Drusilla asked calmly.

His legs gave out and he fell, kneeling in his own blood. Drusilla tisked at his apparent weakness and continued her search.

This could not be happening. Numb, he was so numb.

"Dru." he pleaded, too weak to raise his head.

"Daddy will be furious that you touched Princess." she said, her wandering hand tugging at something.

He jerked with her pull, whatever she had in her grasp was well attached, "Please…" he murmured eyes heavy, so heavy.

Was this what it felt like to die? The people he fed on, did they just drift away like this?

"Found him." she said triumphantly, wrenching her hand out of his chest with a sucking sound.

Pain flared through him, even his feet feeling as though they were aflame. Slumping backwards, Drusilla's hand no longer keeping him upright, he tried to focus on what she had clutched in her hand.

It was a heart, dark and wizened. Yet despite how dead it looked, it was still beating. Drusilla's face was distasteful as she squeezed the pumping organ, making it spasm.

"William thought he could come out and play while I was away. Daddy will teach him better."

"That's right darling, I will," a masculine voice issued from behind her.

Blearily, Spike managed to focus on the figure lurking behind his love.

Angelus.

He tried to get up, hands pawing clumsily at the massive hole Drusilla had left behind. He was too weak, unable to move even as his Grandsire stalked forward, lithe as a panther.

"Hey Spikey. Miss me?" he asked, raising his boot over the smaller vampire.

Spike never heard the insult, never felt when the boot kicked into his exposed rib cage. His focus was on Drusilla still. She had tossed away the shriveled heart and was licking the blood off her arms as she watched Angelus adoringly.

"W...why?" he managed to gasp out, even that one word seeming impossible.

Angelus paused, his boot covered in blood and tissues. Leaning over, he positioned his face centimeters away from his own, "Why?" he laughed, tweaking an exposed rib experimentally, "Because you're just her dog, a plaything. I'm the one she loves. See," he gestured behind him, "She's ripped out your heart again."

Spike never heard the rest of Angelus' taunt, the screaming in his head was too loud…

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Giles frowned, staring at the Latin translation before him. The words had been penned so long ago that in some places the ink had faded entirely. Consulting the dictionary besides him, he looked back to the sentence that was giving him so much trouble. With so many letters, sometimes entire words illegible, translating had become more like guess work.

"The Slayer processes… many carrots?" That certainly was not correct.

Sighing in frustration, he marked his spot in the dictionary and closed it. It was a shame Spike was still asleep, the vampire was quite good at Latin translations - not better than he was obviously. The beginnings of a headache were making themselves known, meaning he had strained his eyes for too long.

He looked over to the couch, wishing he could sit down and watch the telly. Spike, however, had thoroughly claimed the piece of furniture for himself. He rarely wandered far from it, electing to eat his meals there instead of the dining room table.

The behavior was rather territorial from what Giles had seen. The vampire did not allow anyone else to sit on the couch, not even Buffy whom he seemed to trust more than the others. He remembered last night when she had dragged the nearly unconscious menace through his door at two in the morning. Despite how weak he had appeared, the vampire had shrugged Buffy off and staggered to the couch, collapsing on it in a dead faint.

Since then, Spike had not even bothered to sit up, instead watching television sprawled out. As soon as he had nodded off, Giles had turned the contraption off, tired of the constant babbling emanating from it. That had been several hours ago and the vampire showed no signs of waking up any time soon.

There was nothing written on the territoriality of vampires - he supposed no one in the council had actually gotten close enough to study the theory. In places such as Sunnydale with high concentrations of vampires, it would be impossible to figure out the, if any, boundaries that may exist. It had always seemed that whomever was strongest and had the most followers was the unrivaled leader.

Giles had never heard about what happened if leadership was challenged. The Master had had no true opposition aside from Angel. And not even Spike had fought Angelus for control, content to allow Buffy to kill her lover instead.

Of course, Spike had never been one for tradition. His time as Big Bad had been turbulent, his actions impossible to plan ahead for. While the Master had been tied to ancient celebrations, the bleached vampire had had no qualms with launching attacks every night of the week.

The more time Giles spent with the vampire, the less he trusted his books. Spike was everything the Watcher's Council had never believed in. He felt emotions, strong ones, and formed connections with others that went beyond mere physical pleasure. He was also quite intelligent, able to plan and adapt.

Spike was, plain and simple, the weirdest vampire to ever exist.

"And he keeps drinking my good Scotch." he said aloud a trifle sourly, glancing at his liquor cabinet which had been getting emptier and emptier ever since Spike's arrival.

The old grandfather clock nestled in the corner of the room clanged loudly, signaling it was eight. Giles set his translations aside, knowing Buffy would be arriving soon. Pulling out his worn map of Sunnydale, he spread it across his desk in preparation.

He had decided that after the events of the previous night, he would send her somewhere less dangerous. Buffy had been vague about how Spike had been injured, ducking his questions with what she must have thought to be a convincing excuse about being too tired. The vampire had been even less helpful, if that was possible, refusing to speak to Giles at all. He was certain Spike did not want to say what happened in case he was not allowed to go patrolling again. This in and of itself was odd. What did he care if the vampire went out and got hurt? He was doing this because Buffy had asked him.

In the beginning, he had cared. Spike had been so obviously vulnerable that it had been impossible to not pity the man. But now? After dealing with the near constant sarcasm for over a week, he was done. Besides, Spike was plenty healed now. As soon as they got word that Angel had returned to Los Angeles, he was kicking the vampire out. He doubted Buffy would take issue, her debt had been repaid.

A groan from the couch drew his gaze and he rolled his eyes. When Spike was awake, he was constantly talking. If he was not entertaining him, then the vampire would talk to the television. Whenever the phone rang, Spike would always answer it first, putting on his best "Giles" impression. Wanker.

It was no surprise then that the menace was equally loud when asleep. He would constantly toss and turn or mumble to himself if he was having a nightmare.

"Spike, wake up." Giles called, striding to the door and unlocking it for when Buffy arrived.

The vampire groaned again and began to make whimpering noises.

"Spike?" Giles approached the couch cautiously and stood behind the back to peer down at the sleeping man.

Spike was twitching, his face screwed up in a grimace of pain. The whimpering was louder, almost fearful. Giles was uncertain. He had no idea how the vampire would react if he woke him up. Clearly scared, Spike could bite him by mistake if he was not careful.

The choice was taken from him as the vampire began twisting frantically, screaming.

"NONONONO-"

"Spike!" alarmed, Giles rounded the couch and placed his hands on the vampire's shoulders, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

At his touch, Spike began to fight harder, twisting himself into the sheets.

"Nononononono-" he was no longer yelling but the words tore at Giles all the same. The agony in his tone, he realized it was more than fear that was making the vampire tremble.

"Calm down! You were dreaming." he said sharply, still restraining the struggling man.

The string of "no" the vampire was uttering died off, replaced by gasping breaths as he became aware of his surroundings again. Blue eyes flickered open, startling bright with tears.

Giles averted his gaze hurriedly, not knowing what to say. Spike crying? Never, preposterous.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, wincing at his sharp tone.

Spike, who had not even bothered to wipe his eyes, looked almost hurt by the reprimand, his gaze sliding away to rest on the floor.

Giles sighed, "I'm… sorry. You just surprised me." he said, the apology sounding forced.

Letting go of his shoulders, he retreated from the couch, needing to get away from the emotional display. It made him feel uncomfortable to know the vampire had been crying, as though he did not have the right to see such a strong demon so weak.

Spike sat up shakily, his hand twisting into the fabric of his shirt just over his heart. Though he had his back to the librarian, Giles still noticed the minuscule trembles of the man's shoulders that meant he had not composed himself fully.

He felt a twinge of guilt as he watched the vampire. Had it been Buffy or even Xander crying, he would be by their side in an instant offering whatever comforting words he could. He remembered what Buffy had told him, how this vampire had saved her life at least twice in the last few months, and made a decision.

Skin still crawling with apprehension, he approached the coffee table and sat down gingerly on the very edge, as far from the vampire as possible. Spike turned his head, brows drawn in confusion.

He looked miserable.

His eyes were bloodshot and still too bright, standing out from his ashen face. He was making no attempt to hide his emotions from him and Giles wondered what the vampire could have imagined to set him so off balance.

He was still dwelling on what to say when Spike said, voice rough, "Sorry."

Giles blinked. Unlike his own apology before, Spike seemed to mean it.

"Sorry? For what?" he asked.

He sighed, "For botherin' you. I was yellin' before right?"

The self deprecating tone startled Giles and he inspected Spike closer, eyes narrowed. If he didn't know better, he would say the vampire was-

The front door opened and Giles jumped away from the vampire hastily. So focused was he on not trying to look guilty that he missed the flash of hurt that whipped across Spike's features at the librarian's reaction.

"Hey guys!" Buffy said brightly, Xander just behind her.

"Oh hello, how was your brief reprieve?" Giles asked, stepping forward and essentially blocking their view of the crying man.

Spike slipped off the couch and disappeared into the bathroom, unnoticed.

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He was still fucking crying.

They wouldn't stop. He watched blurrily as the hot tears, which traced paths of fire down his face, fell into the porcelain sink he was hunched over, making small plinking noises. There were no sobs, he was far too numb to feel much. He simply allowed the tears to fall.

The dream had been real, too real. Seeing Drusilla again…

"Stop," he murmured, hand tangling in his shirt again, "Please, stop."

But his plea was ignored, the corners of his eyes burning from the saltiness. All this time, he had believed she would come back. No matter how long he waited, his faith in her never diminished. It had never occurred to him she would not return for him.

The idea hit hard, a fresh bout of tears bursting forth. He bit his lip hard to hold back the agonized moan that was building in the back of his throat. If she was really never coming back… what would he do?

Every moment of his life for the last century had been spent taking care of her. He had protected her, fed her, nearly died for her. Why… why wasn't that enough? Why was it never enough?

Someone knocked smartly on the bathroom door and he startled skittishly.

"Spike? What are you doing in there?" Buffy's voice drifted to him and he stood rooted to the spot, unable to formulate a reply.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern creeping into her tone.

"Fine." His lips moved as he gave what he hoped was a convincing response, "Just takin' a piss. Why, did you fancy a look in?"

She huffed, "Pig." Her footsteps retreated from the door.

He swiped at his eyes, wishing he could see his reflection. He could not leave the bathroom until he was certain he looked normal. If Buffy or Xander thought he had been crying, he could just imagine the looks of pity and delight he would receive.

Plucking at the collar of his shirt, he used the fabric to wipe his eyes better. If he had more time, a cool, wet cloth would get rid of his red eyes but he didn't have the time now. Buffy thought he was taking a leak and if he spent any more time in the bathroom she would know he had been lying. In his current emotional state, the idea of being dishonest was beyond him - it took too much energy.

Taking a deep breath, he cracked open the bathroom door and peered out cautiously. The others were gathered around their precious map, backs to him. Opening the door fully, he ventured out, making a bee line for his couch.

Sitting down, he was enveloped by his own scent. It calmed him some, a feeling a safety taking the edge off his sadness. Living as he was now, where not even the clothes he wore belonged to him, knowing the couch was his kept him grounded. It was a constant, the only constant he currently knew.

"So, you want me to just do a canvass of Restfield?" Buffy asked and he looked over his shoulder, feigning interest in their conversation.

"Yes. After last night, I thought it best you focus most of tonight on fresh graves that might yield vampires. After all, we cannot discount fledglings simply because older demons are wandering around." Giles said, leaning over to point out something.

Xander, evidently bored, glanced up and met Spike's eye. The boy looked first surprised, then smirked. The almost malicious look made him tense as he was reminded of Angelus from his dream.

"Hey dead boy." Xander said in his way of a greeting. Whatever peace Spike had thought they had made at Thanksgiving was now gone.

"Hey." he answered, not throwing in a nickname so as to keep the encounter neutral.

To his horror, Xander approached him, invading his safe zone, "I hear you got thrashed last night. What gives? I thought you were a master vamp."

Buffy and Giles were no longer consulting the map. Both were watching the two males, waiting to step in if the passive aggressive behavior being displayed escalated.

"I am." Spike said, slightly indigent, "I'd like to see you take out a dozen demons without gettin' roughed up." he challenged.

Xander's eyes darkened, "Think I can't do it?"

Spike snorted, some fire coming back, "Know you can't do it, mate."

"Enough." Giles said sharply and the two broke off, "Xander, if you are through antagonizing Spike, I suggest you leave. Buffy has to start her patrol."

The obvious dismissal did not sit well with the boy, who shot one last glare at Spike before heading for the door.

"I'll be going then. Be safe Buffy," he called as he exited, the door shutting a little too hard to be friendly.

"What's his problem?" Buffy asked worriedly.

"Me." Spike said indifferently, reaching for the television remote.

Giles noticed, "Aren't you patrolling with Buffy?" he asked.

Spike's hand froze. In all honesty, he had assumed he would be forbidden from leaving the flat again for a good long while. He had no idea what had happened after he had passed out the previous night but he was certain Buffy had told Giles about his little episode.

"Am I?" he asked mildly, shooting Buffy a look.

"Of course. You worked well with me last night so there's no reason to stop."

There was something off, he could sense it. But looking at Buffy, he could not believe her intentions were anything other than honest. He had been used so many times, this was different… it had to be different.

She was no demon.

"One condition then," he stood, straightening his shirt, "I want to pick up my car."

Buffy's nose wrinkled, remembering the mess his car had been last time she had seen it. "Why?" she asked.

"Cause everythin' I still own is in there. My CDs n' stuff." He did not elaborate.

There was something else he had in his car he wanted back. The music was nice and all, as were the weapons, but they were hardly his main concern.

"It's not parked far from Restfield y'know." he said, irritated she still looked hesitant about agreeing. He had spent all last night following her whenever she went, all he wanted was ten minutes, "I'll drive you back to the college after." he offered, knowing how much she despised having to walk so far after an entire night of slaying.

Her eyes lit up at the prospect, "Okay then." she agreed.

Giles nodded, "Give me a call if you encounter anything out of the ordinary. Otherwise, we'll discuss the results of your patrol tomorrow."

"Out of the ordinary? You mean aside from the vampires and demons and stuff?" she asked playfully.

Giles fought back a smile, "Yes." he said fondly.

Watching their interaction, Spike realized just how close the two really were. The ex Watcher had become her father figure in place of the one who had abandoned her. No wonder the Council had an issue with them, it was clear Rupert would sacrifice the rules in a moment to protect Buffy.

"We goin'?" he asked, unintentionally breaking the mood as he pulled on his boots and duster.

"Yeah, let's go." Buffy said, the same duffel bag from last night swinging on her shoulder, "Later Giles."

Spike followed close behind, excitement beginning to bubble at the prospect of having a good fight. Violence was easy, it required no emotion… no thinking.  
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"This is boring!" Spike exclaimed moodily as he paced. He kicked at a small rock, sending it flying as he continued complaining, "Why don't we go somewhere else? I don't think this bloke is gonna rise."

Buffy bit back a sharp retort, keeping her gaze firmly on her opened history textbook. She had almost forgotten how boring waiting for possible vampires to rise was. She had also forgotten how freaking annoying Spike was when he was bored.

"Shut up." she growled, "You're distracting me."

Sitting cross legged on the ground with her book in her lap, she turned the page. Seriously, what was the point of learning about the 1970s? That was forever ago, her mom had only been a teenager.

"Oh God, I'm distracting your pretty head? How dare I!" he mocked her, his pacing increasing.

"Keep it up and I'll dust you." she muttered, reading the same paragraph for the third time. The agitation Spike was giving off was affecting her, making focusing impossible.

"As if. I'm your ride." he smirked, "Why is it you don't drive? Maybe it's the whole female thing-"

Screw studying. With scary accuracy, the result of hours of practicing with Giles, she flung her textbook at the vampire's stupid face. Without missing a beat, he plucked it out of the air and opened it curiously, flipping through the pages.

"The Hell is this? Postmodern History of America." he turned back to the cover, reading the title.

"It's for my history class." she said, watching him carefully. The book was rented and if it was ruined she would have to pay an additional $170 at the end of the semester, "Don't… do anything evil to it."

He snorted at her awkward wording, "I'm not the one who chucked it, pet. 'Sides, what do you think I'm gonna do? Set it on fire?" his free hand tapped the pocket of his jeans - the same pocket which contained his lighter-

"Give it back!" she lept for him, abruptly remembering that the vampire before her was evil.

It was something she was forgetting more and more often.

Ducking low and shouldering him hard in the gut, she expected Spike to be sent reeling. He gasped as the air was driven from his lungs but did not fly back. All of Buffy's momentum had been absorbed and she collapsed awkwardly at the amused man's feet. He was laughing, eyes crinkling in amusement at he looked down at her.

"Alright pet?" he asked.

Furious, she grabbed his right leg just below the knee and gave a vicious tug. Unprepared, he fell backwards, landing on his back with a dull thud. The laughter cut off as she rose to her knees victoriously.

Wrenching her book from his now lax grip, she retreated back to her gravestone, leaving him on the ground. Served him right for being such an ass. She was doing him a favor really, allowing him to get his car and stuff. Why did he always ruin everything for her?

Spike got to his feet, shaking his head and she ignored him, flipping to the proper page. The next ten minutes passed in silence, Buffy read her book and Spike leaned against a tombstone, waiting.

Finishing the chapter, she realized she had absorbed absolutely zero information. Turning to the beginning again, she glanced up at Spike. His head was bowed, arms crossed across his chest. He looked like he was sleeping, though she knew better. Spike was, first and foremost, a predator. He was always aware of his surroundings no matter how subdued he appeared.

Returning to her book, she read a few pages before pausing again, confused. The book talked about a depression but she did not understand what had caused it. Her professor had given a lengthy lecture on the subject but she could not call back any of the details. She wished she had remembered her notebook.

Spike though, surely he must know something. The vampire had been alive during the 70s and judging by his taste in music and style, it had been his favorite decade. She felt awkward though, asking him for help after pushing him around only a few minutes ago.

Besides, he was a vampire. It wasn't like small things like an economic depression would be worth his notice. He probably had no idea about the subject.

Still, he was right there. Hesitantly, she asked, "Spike, what caused the economic depression of 1973?"

He didn't even bother to look up, "Oil crisis."

Okay maybe he did know some stuff.

"Um… thanks." she said, making a mental note to get another book on the topic to get more information.

"Why didn't you know the answer? You're the one takin' the class." The sharp remark caught her off guard.

What was his problem? Maybe he was still pissed she had beaten him before. It had probably bruised his ego to lose so easily.

"Why do you?" she shot back.

His head jerked up, eyes icy. "Cause it's why we came here. The depression affected England too y'know. Wanted a change of scenery anyway, so we skipped across the pond for a bit."

"We?" she asked.

"Me an' Dru," he said shortly, tone bordering on hostile.

Taking the hint, she did not ask another question. Spike was easy to rile up but his cool down periods were another matter. The angrier he became, the more reckless his behavior - which was the last thing she needed.

It was odd though, he had spoken Drusilla's name with contempt. Ordinarily, one could not so much as mention the skank without Spike going full protective boyfriend. She wondered what had happened to change his feelings. It had taken long enough if she was honest. The vampire had abandoned Spike a good six months ago, it was about time he moved on. She just hoped he did not pick up another girl like Harmony, one had been plenty enough.

"I think it's time to go. This guy's not rising." She looked at her watch.

Spike shrugged, "Maybe he's having a hard time of it. Took me hours to dig myself out."

"I doubt it. It's been three hours. This one's dead… actually dead." She stood, placing her textbook in her duffel bag. "C'mon. Let's go get your car."

He nodded, pushing off the gravestone and heading for the cemetery exit. Buffy followed, double checking for the stake she had in the inner pocket of her coat. Despite the lack of demon activity, she knew better than to let down her guard.

Spike was still unusually quiet as they came to the cemetery edge and proceeded down the sidewalk. The lack of vigor worried her and she thought back to last night. He had played off his "episode" as a one off thing but now, examining him closer, she could tell that something was clearly up with him.

His emotions had been bouncing all over since she had arrived at Giles'. First he had slunk off into the bathroom without so much as a hello and then in the Restfield he had been snarky. Now, after his brief laughing fit, he was acting all moody. Not for the first time, she wished there was a way she could read his mind. He was hiding something from her.

Her thoughts turned back to her Psych project. Phase two was to be completed tonight if she was to stay on task but looking at him, she was not altogether sure her prodding would be well received. Asking about his friends was definitely safer than asking about his family but still, something had set him off last night and she was sure, despite his claim otherwise, it had been herself.

They had reached the edge of the woods, the trees blocking the scant moonlight. It was not the same section of wood as before, they were a good mile farther west, meaning the walk would be much longer.

"Spike, I can't see." She mentally berating herself for not bringing a flashlight. Her complain sounded weak and, judging from the disapproving look he was giving her over his shoulder, Spike was not impressed either.

"You're the bloody Slayer, not some child." he said in exasperation, his stormy mood not lifting.

"I know that! It's just kinda far to go nearly blind." she reasoned, trying to defend herself.

He snorted, "What do you want me to do about it? Cause I could just leave you here and pick you up after I get the car."

She shook her head vigorously, "No, just talk okay? So I can hear you and stuff. You don't make much noise when you walk."

"Fine." He said shortly, disappearing into the gloom, "What do you want to talk about?"

He was making it sound like speaking to her was a chore. She knew she was not the easiest person to get along with but was she really that bad? Following him, she was alarmed when the darkness enveloped her. Taking a deep breath, she felt her lungs expand. Focusing on the motion, she let the air out slowly.

More confident, she allowed her senses to travel outward, trying to dispel the crushing silence that weighed on her. She could hear the leaves rustle, as the barest breath touched them. And like that the overwhelming pressure lifted.

Sighing in relief, she called, "Spike?"

"Right here." he answered and she jumped, realizing he was directly in front of her.

Reaching out, her hand brushed against cotton, confirming he was really there.

"Let's go." she said allowing her hand to drop.

"Aye." he said and set off, his footsteps heavy as he tried to make more noise for her, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

She realized this was the perfect opportunity to get information. The topic of friends was easy, Spike seemed to enjoy making fun of the other Scoobies. Maybe mocking Xander would be enough to get him out of his bad mood.

"You know, I don't really remember any of my friends from my old school anymore," she began in what she hoped was a casual tone. For some reason she was nervous and she hoped his heightened vampire senses did not include some emotion radar or something.

"It's been three years right? Why would you remember them?" His dismissive tone sent alarm bells clanging in her head but she did not know why.

"I mean, most of them were surface level people, fake and everything. And when I came here and met Willow and Xander, it was different. But still, I knew some of them for years. I thought I would remember something."

"People are easy to forget, even the ones that make lastin' impressions."

They were going slowly to accommodate her, but still Buffy found it difficult to continue the conversation and walk.

"Have you forgotten everyone?" she asked.

He was silent for so long she had to stop, unsure of her surroundings. When he finally answered, there was a hint of suspicion in his tone, "It's been over a century. I hardly remember my own name, much less the prats from the schoolyard."

She had to choose her next words carefully, "Well, it doesn't matter now. Xander, Willow, Giles, my mother, they're all I need."

"You've got quite the misfit family unit goin'," he agreed.

"What about you? I never see you hanging around with anyone else demon or otherwise." She tried to pass the comment off as casually as possible.

"Cause I don't… hang 'round with anyone as you put it. Got some demons I don't mind, they're good for a poker game some nights but most everyone here has got all these soddin' ideas of runnin' the world or have tradition so far up their arse that they can't leave the crypt without consultin' a star chart."

The implications of his words floored her. She had always assumed he had someone. Even the Master had had his people. From what Angel had told her, the Master and Luke had arguably been friends. They had trusted one another at least.

"You don't have any friends? Does anyone care about you?" The words were out before her brain could stop them.

Silence.

Even the leave had stopped rustling, the wind choosing this exact moment to die down. She took a single step forward, her sense of direction completely destroyed. Spike should have said something by now, what was he doing?

"Spike?" she said softly. When there was no response, she called again, louder.

"Y'know somethin'?" Hot breath curled against her ear and she jumped.

He was behind her and she whirled to face him, so close she could smell his hair gel, "Oh thank God. I thought you'd left."

Which was evidently the worst possible thing to say because he moved closer, pressing against her. She made to step back but encountered a tree, effectively pinned between the two. She wanted to yell at him for being so perverse but there was nothing sexual about the way he was against her.

His body was hard, every line so tense she could feel him quivering. Had she managed to push him over the edge? Fearfully, she plunged her hand into her coat pocket for her stake but was halted by an iron grip.

"Let go!" she yelled, her free hand trying to push him away.

He leaned over her, ignoring her plea. His mouth against her ear again as he whispered, "Sometimes you're a right bitch."

And just like that he was gone. Breathing shakily, Buffy stayed against the tree, knowing his fury had not dissipated in the least. Oh why did she always run off her mouth?

"Spike?" she said hesitantly, "God Spike, I'm sorry. That came out so, so wrong."

No response.

"Spike?" she said, fearful he had left her behind. When it was still silent, she continued, "Fine, I'll talk then. I didn't mean that, I really am sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was a terrible thing to say. Of course you have people who care about you obviously. Bitchy Buffy just made an appearance I guess."

"Shut up."

The words were so cold that she stopped talking abruptly.

"It's my turn now." His tone wavered and she realized he was circling her, "I dunno who you think you are… actually I do. You're the fuckin' Slayer. And every night you wander out and kill every dark thing that crosses your bleedin' path. You tell yourself that vampires can't feel, that we're just mindless animals. Must make you feel better, feel less like a murderer. And you revel in it, get off on it. It makes you feel alive, killin' every last one of us.

"You have no fuckin' clue 'bout anythin'. I know you and your friends used to make fun of me carin' for Dru. Even the Watcher's had a go 'bout it. You all think I was obsessed, not able to love her. Well, y'know what? I took care of her. Every single night I'd get her dolls to play with or books to read to her. Some days she'd wake up cryin' cause the voices in her head told her all sorts of nasty things. I consoled her when Angelus and Darla left us behind. I fed her when she wasn't well enough to feed herself. I bathed her and did her bloody hair every time she asked.

"And she couldn't give nothin' back. Angelus had ruined her. She couldn't love, not really. If I had died, she would have moved on. She liked the affection and all but every time she was seein' me, it was Angelus she wished for. But I didn't care cause I loved her.

"Love, Slayer. Not obsession, not desire. Love. Turns everythin' upside down don't it? Easy to kill mindless beasts right? Well we ain't that. And you, askin' questions 'bout me. What am I to you, just a source of information? Easy to say 'Spike has no friends, not like he feels anythin'. You have no soddin' clue 'bout me."

She was crying, tears sliding down her face. What had she done? All this time, she had been trying to convince herself Spike was somehow less than human, that he had no feelings. She had manipulated him, made him vulnerable to get answers for some stupid school assignment. And at what cost?

She had all the information she needed but it didn't matter. She felt like throwing up, guilt making her legs weak.

"Y'know what the worst bit is?" He was close again, one lone finger flicking away her tears, "I convinced myself that you were different. Every time my instincts screamed out that you were manipulatin' me, I refused to listen. And what did I get for it?" He chuckled darkly, and his hand retreated, "Nothin'."

He grabbed her wrist, tugging her forwards. She stumbled, "W-what you doing?" she gasped.

"Takin' you back to the school." he said, ploughing through the underbrush confidently.

At his words she felt the guilt double. After what she had just done, he was still going to drive her?

"Thank you." she whispered.

"Not doin' it for you." he said, "The Watcher trusts me to get you home safe so that's what I'm doin'. He's an alright bloke, better than most of you. He has the grace to at least pretend to like me when I'm around."

He might as well have slapped her with that admission. He really did have no one. Drusilla was gone, his minions and Harmony had abandoned him. And she had thrown what she suspected to be one of his biggest insecurities in his face for no other reason than to answer some stupid questions about him.

Guilt stopped her from responding, the heaviness sewing her lips closed. She allowed him to continue leading her, not complaining when her foot caught on a root or he yanked too hard at her arm.

When the ground evened out beneath her feet, she realized they were in the clearing his car was parked. He let go of her hand and she stood stock still, afraid to move. She heard him unlock the car door and settle inside, the engine whining as he turned the key in the ignition.

A flood of lights attacked her eyes and she squeezed them tightly shut against the pain. It felt as though the light had pierced right through her head, hitting the back of her skull and shooting through her brain. After a moment, she dared to open them, hardly able to see beyond her lashes.

She could just make out Spike's silhouette from where he sat in the driver's seat. Not wanting to inconvenience him, she made her way the best she could to the passenger door. Rounding the car, it became easier to see and she was able to get the door open without any issue. Sliding into the seat, she shut the door and buckled herself in.

Spike was staring out the windshield, knuckles pearly from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Without warning, he threw the car in reverse and shot backwards down a bumpy dirt trail.

Her teeth rattled from being jolted but she did not dare complain. She looked to Spike who appeared terribly pale, even his lips lacking any color. His eyes were tired and sunken making his cheeks look hollow. Not once did he look her way, even as he reached the end of the dirt trail and threw the car in drive to roar down the street.

They passed by houses, doing well above the speed limit. Buffy wondered how the car did not simply fall apart. With every bump they hit, the vehicle would groan. Bottles rattled from the backseat floor, threatening to shatter.

It was so late, not another car was out. Spike accelerated more as they exited the final neighborhood, entering a spot where forest dominated either side of the road. Still, his face was devoid of emotion.

When they entered the labyrinth of frat houses that surrounded the college campus, he finally slowed. Despite the late hour, people were walking around - most of them with a notable stagger that labeled them as drunk.

Spike was careful to not hit any of the inebriated teen, hitting the brakes at every stop sign dutifully.

Once they reached the campus, he took the road that led closest to the freshman dorm. It was not technically legal for him to be driving on it, only school vehicles were allowed, but Buffy did not dare complain.

He pulled up alongside one of the entrances, flicking a button to unlock her door.

This was the part she had been dreading, not certain how to address the vampire. He had not accepted her apology, not that he should. As far as she was concerned, he had every right to loathe her. Still, it felt weird not saying thank you or something.

Getting out, she hesitated, "Um… thanks for the ride." she said softly.

He still did not turn to face her, a muscle in his draw ticking. When she realized no response would be forthcoming, she shut the door. The moment it clicked, he was off again, the car taking a turn far too fast and sending the tires squealing.

Watching him race out, she felt a stab of fear. If he were to crash-

Shaking her head, she entered the dorm and proceeded to the second floor. She needed to talk to someone, anyone.

"Will, you up?" she called softly as she opened the door and flicked on the light.

Her heart sank as she saw her best friend's bed was once again empty, an occurrence that was becoming increasingly frequent with the red head. Lost, she sank onto her bed and looked around the room.

Everything was so innocent: the posters on the walls, the bottles of shampoo cluttering her desk. But she did not feel innocent right now. She felt as if she had commit a grievous sin and should be offering penance.

Spike had trusted her, she realized that now. Maybe he had even thought they were friends. She had treated him well, limiting her normal barbed comments so as to get on his good side. The deceiving, she wondered how he must feel.

Looking again to Willow's bed, she thought she understood.

Feeling restless, she picked up the phone on the nightstand, dialing a number she knew by heart. As it rang, she wondered about what would have happened if she had never been assigned the Psych project.

A voice, rough with sleep answered and the sob she had been holding back finally released. For several minutes, all she could do was cry.

Finally, hiccuping and breathing heavy, she whispered, "Mommy? I need to talk to you."


	8. I Have Seen Much

Dawn was near, the stars beginning to fade. In this time, when it was too late for demons and too early for humans, Sunnydale was nearly devoid of life. A lone vampire was the one exception. He was painfully thin, the bones of his hands all too easy to see.

For the last three weeks he had been hunting, desperate for any kind of nourishment, only to turn up empty handed time and again. The nights had bled together, an endless cycle of hunger and more hunger.

“There’s got… to be… something.” he groaned, willing himself to continue moving.

It would be so easy to simply lie down and wait for the dawn to claim him but fear overrode his desire to end the suffering. Earlier in the night he had caught a scent though he had been hesitant about following it. While certainly human, their had been a trace of something else which had soured it. The need to eat however, overrode his caution and he had continued to track the scent, desperate for a meal.

Whoever he was stalking had been moving in the same direction for the last hour, not deviating from its course in the slightest. The scent had gradually become stronger and the vampire pushed himself harder, needing to catch up before the sun rose.

The obsidian sky had just begun to change to indigo when the vampire found himself at the edge of a children’s park. 

A solitary figure was on the swings despite the late hour, feet dragging against the ground as he moved gently back and forth. Mouth watering, the vampire ventured closer, away from any shelter. The scent he had been following was coming off the figure in waves and his stomach clenched at the prospect of finally eating something.

When he was only a few feet away, he growled softly. The figure’s head jerked up and the vampire realized he had been stalking a teen. The boy looked no older than seventeen, stone grey eyes widening as he was confronted by the demon.

In fact, everything about the boy was oddly colorless. His hair was pure white, the crisp color of fat summer clouds. Pale skin, nearly the same shade, was practically translucent. It was as if he were a character from an unused coloring book.

“You’re a vampire.” the teen had yet to move, one hand wrapped loosely around the swing chain. His tone was level, almost curious.

Growling again, the vampire bared his fangs, wanting to scare his prey, “Yup. And that makes you dinner.”

Once again, the boy remained calm, “I’m Ezra.” he introduced himself, ignoring the threat.

The vampire almost laughed. This kid was clearly an idiot - not that he really cared, it just took the fun out of the hunt.

“I don’t care who you are.” he snapped, slinking closer.

Ezra shrugged, “I was merely being polite, my father always told me to be cordial.” He released the chain, hands folding neatly in his lap, “What’s your name?”

The vampire was tired of this game. Snarling, he lept directly for the boy, knocking him off the swing. The two fell backwards in a mess of flailing limbs, Erza pinned beneath the vampire.

Looking down triumphantly, the vampire was put off by the curious expression the boy wore as he surveyed him. He should be pissing himself in fear or begging for him life. What the hell was his problem?

“You have fangs,” Ezra noted, reaching up a hand lazily to poke at them. Without warning, the hand gripped the vampire’s collar in an iron grip, “Too bad they’re not as big as mine.”

The vampire watched in horror as the boy’s teeth began to sharpen and curve. With a grin that exposed a set of oversized canines, he snapped his head up, sinking those fangs into the vampire’s neck. Jerking backwards, the demon found he could not break the boy’s grip. The teeth at his throat were sawing through muscle and tendons, ripping chunks of flesh out. 

He’s going to decapitate me!

With a massive effort, the vampire pulled backwards again. His shirt ripped, freeing him from the boy’s grip and he wrenched himself free of the teeth latched onto him. Blood was bubbling from the massive wound, weakening the vampire. He was only able to move a few feet before collapsing, blood drenching the grass beneath him.

Ezra stood up, brushing himself off. His lips were stained with the vampire’s blood, a violent splash of color. Approaching the vampire, he waited patiently for the trashing to subdue, “I’ve never seen a vampire bleed out completely before. Is that, perhaps, enough to kill you?”

The demon could not reply, blood dripping from his mouth. Ezra had severed his vocal chords and with all the blood clogging his throat, he knew there would be no response.

“Maybe not. Regardless, there’s no point is having you suffer.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a plain silver ring, only two small indents adorning it. Putting the ring on his left forefinger, he muttered a few words under his breath. The result was a plume of dark smoke which drifted from the ring and hung in the air around his hand despite the breeze which should have dispersed it. Reaching out his right hand, he caressed the smoke. The moment he made contact, it shifted. Becoming solid, it took on the shape of a slender sword.

Gripping it casually, he held the weapon before the vampire, showcasing it. It was the dull color of iron but the tip was of a different material, almost brownish.

The vampire began struggling again and Ezra pulled the sword back, “Yeah, the tip of the blade is wooden. Scary huh? It was forged forever ago with magic. Which means if I do this” - he plunged the sword downwards without warning, directly into the vampire’s heart, “it’ll kill something like you.”

Indigo faded to pink and orange as the sun peeked from the edge of the horizon. Blood glittered from where it had been spilled on the grass, the macabre scene illuminated. Ezra pulled the ring off his finger, the sword bursting into a cloud of smoke again, before making his way in the same direction he had kept up most of the night. 

It would not do well for him to dwell, children would be walking past the playground soon on their way to school. He imagined the looks of horror they would wear, some of them crying as they saw the carnage. 

Whistling softly to himself, he moved towards a large collection of rocks just beyond the playground. A narrow gap between two of the boulders was barely visible and it was this he approached. Squeezing through the opening, he now stood in a tunnel, the ground sloping down sharply.

It had been pure luck his brother had found this place when they had first arrived at the Hellmouth three weeks ago - everywhere else had been stuffed with all sorts of demons. Though it was nearly pitch black, the faint light offered from the opening was enough for his heightened vision. He maneuvered through the tunnel easily, following the twists and turns confidently. 

After a few hundred feet, a faint light could be made out, hidden by a sharp bend. Rounding the turn, Ezra stopped and marveled at the long cavern before him. Lanterns were set up in strategic locations to keep the entire area well lit, mattresses and boxes covering much of the floor. On the far side, where several crates had been set up as a makeshift stage, a teen with jet back hair was addressing a dozen men and women gathered around him.

“I’m home Samuel.” Ezra called, interrupting the meeting, as he picked his way through the mess.

The dark haired teen glared, “What took you so long? You were supposed to go out and gather more vampires for our cause.” he gestured impatiently to his yellow eyed crowd.

“I got distracted.” he shrugged, wondering what had his brother so bend out of shape. 

“Distracted? You’ve been gone for three days.” Samuel bared his teeth, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The vampires reacted to his apparent anger, shying away.

“I found someone interesting. You would have liked her.” Ezra hopped on top of the crates, bringing him face to face with his furious brother.

Samuel’s nose twitched, “I smell blood. What happened?”

“Stuff.” Ezra said, looking down at the crowd, “Wow, you’ve been busy. We have our own little army now.”

“No thanks to you. Every time I send you out to find more ‘helpers’ you come back days later with idiotic stories!”

“My stories aren’t idiotic!” Ezra sniffed, not seeming to care that Samuel looked about ready to kill him, “Anyway, do you want to hear about what I found?”

A muscle twitched in Samuel’s jaw. Shooting a savage glare at the assembled vampires, he sent them scrambling away, “Let me guess, a pretty girl caught your eye?”

Ezra nodded, happy his brother had guessed correctly on the first try, “Yeah, she was quite the looker. A bit small, but all nice and firey.”

“Who was she?” Samuel ground out, his normally thin temper already spent by the conversation. 

“Oh, just the Slayer!” he said excitedly, “She was hunting a vampire and I killed it right under her nose. You should have seen her, standing in this vegetable garden and trying to figure out how the vampire dusted.”

“You used father’s sword?” his tone was icy as he surveyed his brother.

“Of course, it’s mine remember? I’m the oldest.” Ezra grinned.

“By four minutes only.” Samuel muttered, thinking quickly. If the Slayer was here, they would have to be careful not to draw any attention. Now was not the time to engage, they were not ready yet.“Ezra, I know you have a thing about Slayers but it won’t do any good if you enter into an altercation with her. Promise me you’ll stick around here for a few days, I need your help anyway.”

Ezra huffed. He did not want to hang around here! So many interesting things were happening outside. But Samuel had asked nicely so it must have been important. 

“Fine,” he groaned. 

Samuel nodded, content, “Good.”

Deciding the conversation was over, Ezra made to step down from the platform but Samuel gripped his shoulder, stopping him.

“Listen, Ezra. You cannot go after the Slayer understood?” he said seriously.

“You already said that!” he snapped back, jerking away from the hand.

Samuel looked resigned, “Because it bears repeating. What happened before, it’s over understand? What’s done is done. Please just let it rest.”

Ezra did not reply. Stepping off the crates, he made his way towards the collection of mattresses, aiming for the largest one. It was the only one not ripped or stained - he had stolen it from the hospital. Collapsing stomach down, he fingered his pocket instinctively, checking for the small lump that was his ring. Satisfied he had not lost it, he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, watching the vampires pass around a few rat carcasses they must have dug up somewhere. Stupid beasts.

He smirked, remembering the vampire he had killed before. The silly creature had thought it was being all stealthy, stalking him. He wished it had caught up sooner, he really had wanted to know if a vampire could bleed out. Unfortunately, the sunrise had cut short his fun. Next time though…

Idly, he surveyed the vampires sharing the rats, wondering if he could test his idea on one of them. He dismissed the notion though, Samuel would not be pleased if he started killing them. Rolling the other way, he watched the shadows cast from the lanterns dance across the wall.

Funny, if he squinted his eyes, that one almost looked like a girl with a knife buried in her chest…

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was not sure how long he drove for, the car seeming to follow its own path through Sunnydale. The gas gauge had been precariously close to empty for some time now, the warning light blinking aggressively. The radio was maxed out, his sensitive eardrums nearly shaken loose by the blaring noise. 

It was something by Bon Jovi.

One hand sat on the top of the steering wheel, the other hanging out of the open window - the skin beginning to blister from the rising sun. He had smoked an entire pack of cigarettes already and was well into his second, the near overdose of nicotine leaving him so chilled that his brain had ceased functioning.

Which was all the better because right now he was so damn tired of thinking.

It took a while for the smell of burnt flesh to register with him, his eyes trailing lazily to where his exposed hand was threatening to combust. It was weird, how bright sunlight seemed to make his pale skin. 

Pulling his hand back into the car, he rolled up the window, the music doubling in volume as it no longer had any place to escape. His car jerked, signalling it was now running on fumes. He wondered what would happen if he simply allowed it to run out of gas, would anyone come looking for him?

He doubted it.

A feeling of restlessness was burning in him, too strong for the nicotine to quall. He had never been one for staying in the same place for long - it used to drive Angelus bat shit crazy - but there was nowhere to go.

He had seen it all during his unlife - Scotland, China, Brazil - and every one of those places had memories attached. 

Memories of Drusilla.

He knew her favorite street in Moscow, her favorite dress shop in Dublin, her favorite bleeding graveyard in Cape Town. Every country, every city, they had explored them all. He had promised her the world and he had never been one to go back on his word. These places were tainted for him now, their love had spoiled and decayed. 

Staying in Sunnyhell was no longer even remotely appealing to him anymore though. Memories aside, the place was overrun by demons half his age. He had killed two Slayers, not another demon alive could claim the same. Every vampire within a hundred miles should be bowing to him, begging for his attention.

Buffy was here too…

At the thought of the Slayer, he floored it, tires spinning as the car lurched forward. She was an absolute bitch. He should have seen her intents right from the start, ever since Halloween she had treated him different. She had claimed it had to do with him saving her in the haunted house but he knew better now. This whole thing had been a scheme to get some information on him. For what end, he didn’t give a damn. 

He had allowed himself to grow complacent, mistaking deception for kindness. She had re-opened old wounds, tearing the hole inside him. All her damn prodding was what must have shaken William loose. Every time the Victorian made an appearance, she had been there. He would have to cut those ties, give the demon more control or risk falling to William. Last time had been easy, Angelus had quite literally beaten the humanity out of him. He was not sure he could damage himself like that.

Everything really was going to shit wasn’t it?

Spike knew he had a primary flaw - it was why Drusilla had chosen him, why Angelus had loathed him. His mother had cultivated it, encouraging him to give love or friendship to whomever would stomach it. 

Dru had needed a caregiver, someone who would always place her needs above their own. It was a type of selflessness that few humans, nevermind vampires, possessed. She had seen that in him, an amiable nature that the demon could never truly kill.

It was this “gift” the Slayer had used against him.

He was astounded by how much he had shared with her. His past was not something he brought up often, or ever. Not a single member of The Whirlwind knew about his human life aside from the poetry bit.

Yet he had told the Slayer about his father willingly. She had witnessed the incident in the haunted house basement and, despite his refusal to answer her, he was sure she had already pieced together that the person whose vile words had brought him to his knees was his own mother. 

The car was slowing even though his foot maintained the same pressure on the gas, coasting to a crawl.

“Bugger.” he snarled and turned the wheel, pulling onto the shoulder of the road just as the last bit of gas was used and the car halted, the radio shutting off. Light was peeking through the spray painted windows, strong enough to be fatal. 

It was not the first time he had spent the day stuck in his car but at least those times he had a bottle of Bourbon to keep him company. He was deep in the warehouse district at least, most of the buildings around him abandoned, so no one would come knocking on his window. Sprawling out across the front seat, he crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling moodily. 

By now, his absence would surely have been noticed. He wondered if the Slayer had told Rupert what had happened or if she even cared enough. Sitting up, he reached into the back seat for a blanket. Even though it was not particularly cold, sleeping with a blanket was a habit he could never kick … just because he was a demon didn’t mean he could not enjoy the finer things in life.

Just before Thanksgiving, he had thrown out all but the two nicest blankets - his definition of nice being no holes. As he dragged them towards himself, something was dislodged, falling onto the backseat with a muted thump.

He peered over curiously and, despite the gloom, could just make out a small, dark brown, leather notebook. His eyes lit up as he reached for it, the rough material familiar against his skin. 

The light was marginally better in the front seat from the small part of the windshield not covered so he could drive, and he held the book close to the source, flipping through it. The whole point of getting his car had been to retrieve this notebook and he held it with a gentleness usually reserved for women - Harmony excluded.

The first page had only a year written at the top, 1884, in faded ink. Underneath the date was a small paragraph written in loopy, elegant writing. He stared at the penmanship, a quiver of sorrow coursing through him.

1884, he had only been a vampire for ten or so years, the graceful words describing a macabre scene in which The Whirlwind had crashed a late night funeral, killing all in attendance. Such brutality should not be written so finely, it was disconcerting. 

He flipped ahead, a year written into the margins of every page. The farther he went, the less elegantly the words were penned. By 1926, he had stopped using script. In 1943, nothing remained of the Victorian style prose.

Some pages held only a few short, choppy sentences that rambled on about nothing. Others held drawing, simple pieces done in charcoal or pencil. Sporadically, a poem would appear. 

These pages were the messiest, sometimes entire verses crossed out savagely enough to rip the paper. Words were crammed into every available space, making it difficult to read the original poems.

There was no need for him to read though, he knew them all by heart. 

The notebook was Spike’s auto biography as far as he was concerned, every page signifying a momentous moment in his life: a drawing of Angelus after he had reclaimed his soul, a description of the floorboards of the house in Lithuania he and Drusilla had hidden in during the Soviet Union Invasion, a poem about the mobs in Prague.

It had started as a bit of a joke, some way to pass the time during the day when everyone else was asleep. Gradually though, he had found himself turning to it in times of distress, using it as a tool with which to keep a level head.

The notebook had not been spared his brand of rebellion however. Much of the later poetry was done as lyrics that would befit a punk rock band. His rough accent, too, had made it onto the page, most of the writing containing a healthy amount of “soddin’” and “bloody Hell”. His sketches had become more and more crude as well, culminating in a picture he had done of Drusilla, her long hair trailing across bare breasts suggestively.

It was almost completely filled, only the last dozen or so pages still blank. He frowned, wondering what would go there. His tale felt incomplete somehow, as though the climax and resolution were missing. 

Oddly, he had done nothing after Drusilla had left, not one single word. So many of the pages were focused on her and he wondered why he had never completed her tale. His final entry on her, a short poem written just before he had teamed up with the Slayer to save the world, was not even complete - a few miserable lines written and struck out.

Flipping back to the beginning, he perused each page carefully, searching for something. His eyes were troubled as he read, too intent to notice he was no longer alone in his head.

Midway through, he came to a page dated 1955. It was the only page with a title.

William’s Poetry

A foreign feeling of remorse stole over him, radiating from the center of his chest. He realized, alarmed, that somehow William had crept out while he had been distracted. More feelings were spawning, rejection, confusion, and hurt coursing through him powerfully.

His eyes moved of their own accord, reading the words scrawled beneath the title - 

My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,  
Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,  
But soft... behold!  
A sunlight beam  
Cutting a swath of glimmering gleam.  
My heart expands,  
'tis grown a bulge in it,  
Inspired by your beauty...   
Effulgent.

Effulgent…

The word seared him, his hands trembling so badly that the book slipped from his grasp. Sinking back, he slumped against the car door, the manual window crank digging painfully into his back. The discomfort did not register with him though, his thoughts had been hijacked. 

He did not fight William’s advances, a part of him welcoming the rush of pain. Everything he had denied himself, the fear, the grief, it crept over him languidly, a soft caress that called to him. 

A memory, shaken loose, burst forth, blinding him...

It was a morning in early summer, the heat not yet so uncomfortable as to keep people indoors. He was sitting cross-legged under a lone sycamore tree, watching other children chase one another about. An arithmetic book sat open in his lap but he paid it no mind, more interested in the romping children.

Playing with others was not something that had ever come naturally to him. At the young age of eight, he already knew he was different from the others. When the others played, he dutifully studied. On those rare winter days where the streets were covered in a frosting thick layer of snow, he would attend class as the other children shirked off in order to have massive snowball fights.

Most of the time, the divide between himself and others did not bother him. He was smart, with aspirations of one day going to college. Besides, what could possibly be so fun about getting your clothes dirty? Such a thing would mean more work or money wasted on replacements, neither of which seemed worth a few minutes of fun.

Sometimes, though, when his mother was not around, he would feel lost. A part of him yearned to be included, to have connections as the other children seemed to have. Fear, however, always held him back. He knew what others said about him, knew his mother’s friends thought something was wrong with his withdrawn behavior. During their tea-time visits, when they thought he could not hear, they would tell her he was peculiar and in need of help. Alienated from both people his own age and adults, there was no place fit for him.

He was too young to realize what he felt was loneliness, the emotion too abstract for his mind to comprehend.

He loathed the summer holiday, spent in the countryside where his allergies were aggravated and he wore a constant sunburn. But it made his mother smile so never once did he voice his complaints, instead making the best of the time as he could.

Returning to the arithmetic book, he answered several questions, eyes narrowed in concentration. 

“Watch it!” someone yelled and he looked up, startled, just in time to get pelted in the face by a leather ball.

The bridge of his glasses cut into the soft flesh of his nose and he yelped in pain.

“Sorry.” A kid with wild red hair said as he jogged over to retrieve the wayward ball, “Game got outta control.”

“It’s quite alright.” he said softly, taking off his glasses to examine them. Thankfully, they had not been broken. He hated asking his mother for new things.

“Oy Abel, quit talkin’ with that ratbag and hurry up!” another boy yelled impatiently.

Abel’s friendly demeanor shifted abruptly, “Wasn’t talkin’ to ‘im!” he called back indignantly, as if the mere thought of interacting with William made him ill. Without another word, the redhead bounded off to rejoin his friends who were all clustered together and whispering, staring at William.

He felt his face begin to heat in spite of himself as the others talked about him and he lowered his eyes back to his book. His sight had begun to blur at the edges and he blinked hard, warding off the threatening tears. 

As far as insults went, ratbag was quite minor, hardly worth noting, but it was the first time someone had degraded him purposely. Back home in London he was simply ignored, too quiet to warrant much attention.

He had done nothing to deserve the insult and that more than anything filled him with despair, the idea that people could hate him without even knowing his name was beyond his understanding.

“William?” a voice called behind him softly and he jerked his head around in surprise.

“Mother.” he greeted her, closing his book and standing up.

She smiled warmly but he did not miss the sad look in her eyes. He swallowed, wondering how much of what had transpired between himself and the other children she had seen. 

“It’s time to go, your tutor will be here shortly.” her gaze wandered to the children still playing with the ball, an out of place frown marring her delicate features.

William realized then with blinding clarity, that he never again wanted his mother to be saddened because of him. He could hide it, hide all of it, behind smiles and laughter and she would never know. 

He gave her the brightest lopsided smile he could muster, pushing his own sorrow deep inside into a chasm where he was certain it would never rise. Her blue eyes lit up at his grin and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they retreated towards the summer home.

Smile. Smile. Smile. He kept the mantra up in his head the whole way, so focused that he never noticed the way his mother’s arm tightened around him, desperate to shield his small frame from the world.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy sat on her bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. She had not moved since calling her mother right after Spike had dropped her off. 

The conversation had not gone well. It had taken her several minutes to stop crying long enough to string two words together by which point her mother had been beside herself with worry. After she had managed to calm down, Buffy had found herself telling her mom everything from being assigned the Psych project to her fight with Spike in the woods.

Joyce had been, predictably, disappointed in her daughter’s actions. Though she had only spoken to the blonde vampire twice, she quite liked him. He was vulnerable, almost fragile despite his badass persona, and her maternal instincts kicked into overdrive when he was around. Once she had gotten past the vampire thing, she had found him to be quite charming, shy even. The only advice she could offer her daughter was to simply try and make amends. 

Buffy had thought about that, though she had no idea how to do such a thing. Spike had made it abundantly clear that what she had done was unforgivable and she could not blame him. He had thought they were becoming friendly, and while she thought similarly, only she had known the underlying deception. Which meant, even now, he was probably suffering far worse than she was.

The only good, or rather bad, to come of talking with her mother was the realization Spike had no idea he was the subject of her Psych project. He had assumed she was just being nosy and had no idea that she had been using him for a school assignment.

Using him… that sounded way worse than just deceiving.

But that was what she had done wasn’t it? Even inviting him to Thanksgiving had been selfish, just something she had blurted out to cut the tension. Giles had been the one to offer his home to the vampire, not her. Every decision she had made regarding Spike had somehow come back to the Psych project he didn’t even know about.

She looked at the clock, her first class for the day was starting in fifteen minutes. The motivation to go, however, had deserted her. 

She wondered what Spike was doing. Giles had not called her so the vampire must have made it home last night. It was too early for his soap opera to be on, maybe he was sleeping. 

Or maybe he was trying to drown himself in the bathtub because I - okay, chill out a little Buffy.

She realized that she had to check up on him, she was obligated to. Whatever he was doing now, whatever he was feeling, it was all her fault. 

Picking up the phone, she dialed Giles, unconsciously holding her breath as she waited for him to pick up.

“Hello? This Rupert Giles.”

Hearing his voice eased some of the fear she had felt. He sounded casual, which meant nothing too bad must be happening with Spike.

“It’s Buffy.” she said, trying her best to act cheery, “I was just calling to check in.”

“Did something happen on patrol?” he asked.

“No, patrol went fine. I just wanted to make sure you and Spike hadn’t ripped each other apart.” 

He was silent for a long moment, “Buffy, Spike never came back here last night. I’d assumed you knew.”

The fear came back tenfold, “What? No, that’s impossible!”

“He did not say anything to you?” he asked, concerned.

‘N-no nothing. We had a fight last night but…” she trailed off uncertainly.

Telling her mother about Spike had been easy, Joyce actually liked the vampire. Giles though, his relationship with Spike had always been strained. Telling him about what she had learned, it felt like she was betraying him all over again.

“A fight? I thought you two were getting along.”

“Spike was all out of sorts the entire night. He would be all excited one moment and then furious the next.”

“Er… I think that may have been at least partially my fault.” he said awkwardly, “Before you arrived for patrol, Spike was having a nightmare. I do not know what it was about but he was yelling and struggling. I had to physically restrain him, he was out of control. When he finally awoke… he was crying. I’m ashamed to say I did not act admirably. Instead of helping, I was rather curt with him.”

“Is that why he went to the bathroom as soon as we arrived?” she asked, the pieces slowly falling into place.

“When you arrived… well my behavior was uncalled for. I felt guilty at being found trying to help a vampire and I jumped away from him. He correctly interpreted by reaction, I think, which is why he left the room.”

Silence lapsed between the two as they realized the parts they had played in the vampire’s disappearance.

“Giles, we fought because he thought I was only being nice to get information from him.”

“Information? Why would he think that?”

“Well, because I was. I had this Psych project and I was doing it on him. Asking to patrol with him, inviting him to Thanksgiving, it was just an excuse for me to get answers. He figured out what I was doing and… he didn’t take it well. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“Buffy,” he said softly, sensing how distraught she was, “you cannot blame yourself for this.”

“But it is my fault. He-he trusted me. I manipulated him to tell me things, things I don’t think he’s ever told anyone before. God Giles, he was so hurt. All this time, I was pretending he didn’t have feelings so I wouldn’t feel guilty. He doesn’t even know about the project, he thought I was just trying to get something to use against him. Everything he said or implied, I’ve been handing it in for a grade.

“And now he’s gone and we still don’t know where Angel is. Giles this is on us, on all of us. We need to make this right. He came to us for help and we hurt him.”

She was desperate for Giles to understand, throwing every argument she could come up with at him in a disjointed mess.

“Buffy dear, please relax.” he said firmly, “Even if we did hurt Spike, he is still a vampire. He has only been in our company for a few short weeks. I understand you think you know him but we cannot be sure he was not deceiving us.””

She knew what he was saying was true. Spike had proven more than once that he was a good liar. He had tricked Angel and Drusilla into thinking his back was still broken two years ago and, arguably, no one in the world knew him better than those two. It was not so difficult to imagine he had done the same to her.

But her thoughts came back to the episode he had had on the sidewalk two nights ago. No way he had faked that, it had been too real. She remembered how lost he had been afterwards, he had not even know who she was. 

“Giles, that first night we went patrolling and I practically carried Spike back, he had a fit.” she said slowly.

“A fit?” he asked.

“We were talking and all of a sudden he freaked. He started vomiting and shaking. Then he went completely rigid. I called his name for at least ten minutes before he came to but he was so disoriented afterwards. And it’s not the first time something like this has happened. Giles, something is seriously wrong with him.” 

“Still though-” he began but Buffy cut him off.

“It’s me.” she said softly, “Every time it happens, I’m there. He’s not faking, no one is that good of an actor. If had an attack when he was alone…” she trailed off.

Gile sighed, “Buffy, not every vampire is Angel.” he cautioned.

“You’re right.” she said, voice hard, “Spike doesn’t need a soul to control his demon. I’m going to find him, I need to put this right. He’s in danger, Angel’s still out there remember?”

“Why do you care so much about him?” Giles asked.

Why did she care? She was not sure. He was everything she hated, being a vampire aside. He was sarcastic and rebellious with a massive ego. But he had an unrivaled sense of humor and on the rare occasions he smiled, it was enough to light up the room. 

“He treats me like an equal.” she began, “He knows just what buttons to push to get me angry but he also knows what’s off limits. He saw Parker for who he was long before I did and he tried to warn me. Giles, there’s something there. When he relaxes, I can see it.”

The conviction in her words seemed to sway the older man, “If you truly believe what you say, find him. But, please, be prepared for it to be gone.”

“I’ve got to go if I want to find him. Bye Giles.”

She hung up, setting the receiver back in its holder. Energy coursed through her, dispelling the despair from earlier. Getting to her feet, she scribbled a quick note telling Willow she had gone out, and grabbed her duffel bag. Exiting the dorm, she made her way confidently off campus, trying to figure out where Spike had gone.

It was unlikely he had left Sunnydale, for whatever reason, he just could not stay away. The cemeteries were out, they were too crowded. Most of the residential areas did not offer enough shelter for a vampire to hide from the sun and she thought it was unlikely he was hiding in the woods after last night’s incident. 

That left the warehouse district and some of the abandoned factories on the south side. She started for the factories as they were closer, drawing her jacket around her. Only two weeks out from Christmas, the weather had begun to get colder.

She did not know what she was going to say to Spike once she found him. The Psych project would never be mentioned; while she believed Spike might eventually forgive her for what she had done, if he found out she had been sharing this information for school… it did not bear thinking about. The idea of continuing to deceive him did not sit well with her either but she did not know what else to do.

Whatever humanity she had begun to see in Spike was weak, a solitary match in a canyon of darkness. It would not take much to snuff it out. With any luck, he would never be a position to find out about the project anyway. It was due in a few days and she fully intended to burn it as soon as it was returned to her.

She had thought about changing her subject but did not have the time. A selfish part of her valued the grade more than him - without the project, she was certain to fail the course - but the overbearing sense of guilt had also played into it. After the suffering she had caused, the idea that some good would come of it helped her. It was not right, she knew that, but she also knew Spike was unlikely to accept any sort of apology she offered and the guilt was tearing her apart.

Frustration welled within her. As much as wanted to believe that something good existed in Spike, she could not blindy put her faith in it. It was difficult because, from what she had seen, the only human he made any allowances for was herself. Which was all fine and dandy but was it enough to stop him from hurting other people? And now that the trust had been broken, would he ever listen to her?

A lot was riding on the hope that they could rekindle the… not friendship, maybe acquaintanceship? If Spike returned to his old life, she knew she would have to stake him. He was wild, a good hunter and an even better planner. Had he not given her the Gem of Amarra, Buffy knew she would probably be dead.

The fight would have been long and painful, maybe she would have managed to take him out too, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would not survive the encounter. Because every battle Spike fought, regardless of the opponent, he fought with everything he had.

Buffy, being a hormonal teen, was at the mercy of her emotions. Weak vampires had almost got the drop on her before because something else had happened in her life. Spike had no such reservations, fighting was too personal for him.

Sure she put up the confidence shield to put her friends at ease before a big fight but often she was terrified. As she had gotten older, pretending to always be in control had become second nature. So long as she kept a cool head, everything would be alright.

Spike always saw through the charade, even when she herself could not. She could trick herself into thinking she was never afraid, that each evil she encountered would eventually be vanquished, but he knew better. 

That was why she had to try.

For him to know her so well, it meant he was her. Not in the literal sense obviously because… ewww. But he was a warrior who had the feelings of a person, same as her, and those two forces were constantly at odds. She knew there were times when it was the human in her that faltered, that could not carry out a task, and it was Slayer part that finished it.

And if could save his human part… well, maybe she could save her own too.

She knew she was changing, hardening. Slowly but surely, her life was changing. A year ago, Willow’s unexplained absence would have had her confronting her friend and demanding to know what was wrong. Now, even though the love she felt for her friend had not diminished, she did not feel the need to find her. She had allowed Xander to drift too, her need for other people changing.

Giles would have called in growing up but a part of Buffy had always suspected that maybe there was a reason Slayers did not live long, besides the whole fighting darkness thing. Maybe the Slayer part would consume them and leave behind ashes. Or maybe it just got too damn hard.

For all the Slayers that had died, she never heard about the demons that had done them in. It seemed impossible that Spike was the only vampire she knew who had killed one, nevermind two, Slayers. 

What if, sometimes they just gave up?

She was stubborn, too stubborn to give in even when life was hopeless, but she also had friends, family. If Kendra had not been killed by Drusilla, how long would she had made it? A year? Two? And afterwards, all that would be left was a Watcher to mourn her. No one else in a world of seven billion would have noticed that she was gone.

If Buffy died, she knew that people would remember. Her mother, Giles, Xander, Willow, Cordelia, Oz, Angel… it may not be a long list but it was far more than most Slayers.

But she did not want to live her life knowing when she died people would care. She did not want to die. Period. She wanted to finish college and get married and have kids. She wanted to go to her ten year high school reunion and pretend she remembered all her old classmates. She wanted to see Willow become a powerful Wicca and Xander run his own construction company and Cordelia get wrinkles. She wanted to be the one who buried her mother, not the other way around, and she wanted to visit Giles in the nursing home and listen to all his complaining.

She wanted to live.

And she suspected Spike wanted to as well. Whenever she had seen him interact with Drusilla, that was the real him. The abrasive punk thing was the shield, just like being confident and in control was hers. But the longer they kept the shields up, the weaker what they were protecting became.

She had only been the Slayer for four years, he had been doing this to himself for a century. 

So she would find him. And she would save him. And just maybe, it would be enough to save her.


	9. Lessons Learned

There was nothing menacing about the street. The towering warehouses lining either side, albeit somewhat creepy looking, were abandoned. Dusk was still a good hour off, meaning the street was well lit, and no one was wandering around. 

Despite this, the single man standing at the far end of the street was terrified.

It was not the seclusion of the place that bothered him, though he was aware not another human was within a half mile of his current position. The graffiti walls did not cause him alarm either, the paint flaking off their brick canvases with age. 

What terrified him was the lone black car parked forty feet beyond his position.

It was a massive thing with a square front and a thick, white pinstripe. The vehicle was covered in mud, as if it had sat in the woods for a bit, the tires caked in the brownish material. Oddly, the windows were all blacked out with what looked like spray paint. Heaven only knew how the driver was able to actually see well enough to drive, assuming of course that the car had not simply been abandoned there.

He knew better though, the car did indeed belonged to someone.

Stepping forward cautiously, he squinted, trying to discern any possible movement through the small holes in the spray paint. This whole thing was a dreadful idea, truly. He should just go home and pretend he had spent the entire day reading or doing something equally stimulating.

“Bugger. I’m going to die,” he groaned, approaching the driver side door.

Here, he hesitated. His next action would quite possibly decide the course for the rest of his life… or end it. Raising a hand, he tapped gently on the glass. He had broken out into a cold sweat, one chilly drop trailing from his armpit and down his side.

Nothing happened.

His brows knitted at the lack of response. Perhaps he had not tapped hard enough?

He knocked again, this time putting a little effort in. Pausing, he dared to lean closer, pressing his ear against the window. The faint sound of rustling fabric reached him.

Straightening, he rapped again, his knuckles smarting from the force. The window rattled and he knew that whoever was inside had absolutely heard him this time.

“Spike?” he called.

Still nothing.

This was getting ridiculous now. Even if the vampire had been asleep initially, there was no way he had slept through all that. He should leave, Spike obvious had no intention of speaking.

His feet had turned away from the car when he remembered his phone call with Buffy. She had been near tears when she had described what had transpired last night and he could not forget his own part in what had happened.

Spike had been hurting badly and he had ignored him, electing to protect his own image than help a creature in need. The thought had kept him distracted long after the phone call. Instead of getting any work done, he had roamed his house in a state of unease.

Looking back, it was obvious something had been wrong with Spike right from the start. All those times that the vampire had been tossing and turning in his sleep, it was nightmares. And instead of addressing it, he had steadfastly ignored it, hoping it would simply fade away.

God, he was such a prat.

He knew Spike trusted Buffy, or had at least. And then to believe her kindness had all been rooted in deception, it was not often Giles felt bad for a demon.

There was something about Spike, though, that cried misery. Even when he was smiling, his eyes would be so cold, so haunted. For all his bravado, Spike had the feelings of a man, and thus, could be hurt as one.

With new resolve, he knocked on the window again.

“Spike, I know you’re in there.” he called again.

After spending part of the afternoon pacing, the need to do something had overcome him. For the last two hours, he had searched around Sunnydale, looking for the wayward vampire. He had a feeling that if Buffy found Spike first, there would be bloodshed. He also had his own issues with the vampire that needed resolving. If they were to keep him as an ally, then someone had to show some trust. And as Buffy, the logical choice, was completely out, that duty fell to him. He also had to make amends for his poor behavior over the nightmare.

The spark Buffy had said she saw in Spike, he saw it too. It was small, sometimes nearly burned out, but with a little aid, he was sure it could blossom.

It had taken him a long time to realize that the death of Jenny had been Angelus’ actions alone. He had blamed the entire Whirlwind but after seeing Spike’s steadfast belief in love in spite of what had occurred between himself and Drusilla, he was certain that the bleached vampire would never do something so cruel.

Even if he was self proclaimed evil.

“Really man, this is getting ridiculous!” he yelled, patience beginning to drain.

“Sod off!” someone yelled from inside.

Well, he knew for sure it was Spike in the car - he was the only other Englishman for miles.

“I most certainly will not! The two of us need to talk.” 

This was not working. Spike was perhaps the single most stubborn thing to exist on earth, he needed a different tactic.

Giles’ eyes lit up as an idea formed. It was dangerous - almost guaranteed death - but it was a risk he needed to take.

“Fine then, stay in there for all I care you pompous, childish, sorry excuse for a vampi-”

The window rolled down sharply, exposing blazing eyes. With a barely contained yelp, Giles scrambled back several feet, nearly tripping in his haste. For all the trouble Spike had caused, rarely had Giles been in a position of danger. Now, confronted with a level of fury that practically scalded him, he felt his courage falter. In theory, this had all seemed so simple. Go find Spike, talk to him, and go home. Easy, simple, no trouble.

He had forgotten to account for the fact that Spike’s default emotion seemed to be anger.

“Fuck off.” he snarled, yellow flecks in his eyes showing he barely had his demon under control.

“Spike, calm down please. The two of us need to talk.” Giles held up his hands, trying his best to show he meant no harm.

His words did nothing to placate the vampire. 

“No. We don’t.” Spike snarled, “I got nothin’ to say.”

“Yes well, I do. Please, just give me a moment.” he hoped it did not sound like he was begging.

Spike was still seething, his brow so furrowed in anger that it almost looked like he was in game face.

“Suppose you talked with Buffy then.” he glared, daring Giles to contradict him.

He swallowed, adam apple bobbing. This was not at all how he had envisioned this conversation going. Unless he could get Spike to somehow calm down, he would have no choice but to leave. And what then? It was imperative this happened now, before night fell and Spike had the opportunity to hunt. Whether he wanted to or not did not matter - his food supply had been sustained by Buffy. Without it, he would have no choice but to kill. And once he started killing… they would have no choice but to stake him.

“I did.” he admitted, knowing that telling the truth was his best option, “But that is not why I am here.”

“Enlighten me then.” Spike snapped, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“If you must know I-I came here to apologize.” he refrained from polishing his glasses, it did not seem like a good idea to temporarily blind himself right now.

Spike laughed bitterly, “That bitch. The Slayer what, called and asked for you to apologize for her? Sorry mate, not interested.”

Giles stiffened at the insult to Buffy, his paternal instincts kicking in. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Spike, whose eyes gleamed maliciously.

“What’s the matter Rupes? Don’t like my tone when I talk ‘bout the Slayer?” his lip curled into a smirk.

The urge to punch that smug look off the vampire’s face was overwhelming. 

“You will refrain from speaking about Buffy like that.” Giles snapped, his hands curling into fists to stop their small trembles.

There were many things Giles could and would put up with. Insults to Buffy were not one of those things. The Council had gotten one bloody thing right - he did love her like his own child. And as such, he tried his best to protect her as one. He may not have been the greatest fighter or the most talented with weapons but he did his best with the skills he had.

“I’ll speak ‘bout anyone any way I damn well please.” Spike’s features had lost some of their arrogance, anger once again lurking just beneath the surface.

“I know what Buffy did and I know you are, understandably, upset, but I will not tolerate you insulting her.” Giles glared.

“Then sod off.” Spike’s head retreated.

The window began to roll back up, signalling the vampire was done with the conversation. Giles huffed in frustration. He had spent the last hour rehearsing in his head what he was going to say and, once again, Spike had managed to balls everything up. If there had been any doubt before now about whether or not vampires felt emotions, Giles had the perfect specimen right here to settle the matter adequately. 

Striding forward, he barked at the rapidly diminishing vampire, “Damn you! I came here to apologize for my actions, not Buffy’s you ungrateful sod!”

The window stopped moving, opened merely an inch. Giles was so close he could see inside to the dingy interior. Spike’s hair glowed fluorescent in the minimal lighting, a solitary flame in an ocean of darkness.

‘There’s something there. When he relaxes, I can see it.’ Buffy’s words from earlier came back to him and he held back a compsulve smile. 

“She has no idea how right she is.” he murmured aloud.

“What’s that?” Spike asked sharply.

Giles shook himself, “The spark of humanity. I see it.” he said cryptically.

His sudden casualness unbalanced the vampire who was now looking at him warily, “Whatever you say mate.” Spike shifted a little farther from the window, his face falling into shadow.

“Spike, I do want to apologize.” Giles said softly.

The vampire was silent for a long moment before saying, “First the Slayer an’ now the Watcher apologizin’. Much be Armageddon is comin’.” There was a coolness to his words which had the former librarian shivering in spite of himself.

“Yes. It does seem rather… poetic perhaps.” he offered awkwardly.

“Nothin’ poetic ‘bout it.” Spike contradicted gruffly.

Giles did not bother responding, entering into another confrontation would not help matters any. He peered into the car again, irritated he could not make Spike out. 

“Could you open the door so we could have this conversation more comfortably?” he asked.

Spike snorted, “Still daylight out. I don’t want the leather seats to fade.”

Giles leaned back and looked at the car. The black surface was covered in dings and dents, though they had been carefully painted over. The white pinstripe was discolored, chrome showing the beginning signs of rust.

All in all, it was a little sad looking.

“Your main concern is the leather seats?” he asked, a trifle disbelievingly.

“D’you have any idea how rare this car is nowadays? Havin’ the seats recovered would be a custom job. I don’t have that type of cash.” Spike said petulantly.

“Obviously.” Giles agreed, though he actually had no idea how much a custom job would cost, cars being far from his normally unshakable expertise. 

“Bloody pain is what is it.” Spike continued, “An’ most places don’t accept dosh no more. Everythin’s all credit this and credit that now.”

Giles nodded along, though he was not really paying attention. It was easier, however, to let Spike talk himself out than interrupt him.

“You should see where I keep it when I’m outta the country. Nice little garage run by some kinda demon. He’s an alright bloke, ‘cept he’s bit of a neat freak. Odd little bugger, always cleanin’. It’s not natural.” Spike finished contemplatively.

Giles sighed in relief. Once the vampire got going, it could be hours before he shut up. He remembered one memorable conversation a few days after Thanksgiving where Spike had gone over Passions and all its story-lines.

Normally, Giles enjoyed talking with others but one could only listen to so much about “Mrs. Debra and her son who had a rare case of blindness because his father was a gardener but the gardener was actually Mrs. Debra’s long lost half brother who was also stealing money to treat his ailing mother…”

“Er… yes. Wonderful.” he said, tugging at the collar of his shirt, “But about what we were discussing before, just let me in the car.

Giles’ hopeful smile became a grimace as Spike let out a bark of laughter at the request.

“Sure mate. Hold on.” he responded, holding back more laughter.

Some fabric rustled before the car door swung open for Giles. Leaning over, he peered cautiously into the interior. 

The car’s bench seat was, oddly enough, immaculate - not so much as a smug apparent on the beige interior. Spike had slid to the passenger side where he was slouching so much Giles was not sure how he was not sliding off the seat. His face was downcast as he fumbled for something in his pocket, features hidden from sight.

Giles peered into the back seat, ignoring the vampire. Here, he found another story. So many bottles littered the car floor that he could not even see the floor. A few blankets and spray paint cans were tossed on the backseat, a crate full of CDs resting precariously on the edge.

It was disconcertingly domestic.

Spike was still not looking at him, shielding his eyes from the penetrating sunlight.. Steeling himself - and ignoring the voice in his head telling him how stupid this was - Giles slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.

He could not help but gasp as the interior was plunged into near darkness, his eyes not adjusted. His hand touched the stake he had hidden in the waistband of his pants, calming him some.

From somewhere beside him, Spike laughed again. The rich sound was a stark contrast with the tension Giles felt. He made an effort to relax some, forcing his shoulders to slump a bit. 

Trust. This was all about trust. He had to trust Spike.

“Thought you were bluffin’.” the laughter died off.

“I wish I had been.” Giles muttered, though the words did not escape the vampire’s sensitive hearing.

“You either have the biggest pair this side of the Pacific or you’re completely daft.” 

Giles ignored the jab, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He realized the car was not completely devoid of light - a small hole in the windshield was letting in the sun’s last rays. Turning to face Spike, he was met with another surprise.

The vampire looked… well he looked awful.

His normally blue eyes were red rimmed and empty, none of the amusement from the last few moments visible. They flickered up to meet his searching gaze, twin pools of pale grey. His skin was paler than normal, if that was possible, harsh lines around his mouth pointing towards a frown.

Giles’ brow furrowed as he looked closer.

Spike’s slouched position, which he had ignored before, he now understood to be exhaustion. His head was bowed, the loose curls of his hair falling unchecked across his forehead and ears. 

“Done starin’?” he asked quietly.

Giles frowned. Everything about this picture was wrong. Spike was a master vampire, a fighter who was on par with even the best of Slayers. It was unnerving to see him so… so hopeless.

“Not quite.” he tried for humor, wanting to incite some reaction.

Spike’s head drooped forwards a bit more, his chin nearly resting upon his chest.

“You wanted to talk ‘member? Hurry it up, I got stuff to do.” he said.

Giles leaned back into the surprisingly comfortable seat, staring out of the small hole in the windshield.

“I meant what I said before, I am here to apologize.” he began, “It was unfair how I treated you yesterday.”

“It was honest.” Spike said, “Maybe the only honest thing that’s happened since Halloween.”

“Honest?” Giles questioned, “Whatever makes you think that?”

Spike looked up, one brow raised, “You hate vamps yeah? An’ I’m a vamp. Get it?”

“I most certainly do not!” Giles said, “I don’t hate you.”

He snorted, “Course you do. It’s in your blood innit?”

“I admit I am not overly fond of you but you saved Buffy twice so no, I do not hate you.” 

This conversation was taking a darker turn than Giles had anticipated. 

“Savin’ the Slayer was more trouble than it was worth.” Spike kicked at the underside of the dashboard.

“Buffy.” Giles corrected.

He had noticed Spike had referred to Buffy as ‘Slayer’ the entire evening. The last time he had done that, the two had been trying to kill one another.

“No she’s a Slayer through and through.”

Giles looked at the ceiling, getting frustrated, “Why are you so angry with her?” he finally asked.

Spike looked incredulous, “You’re jokin’ right?”

“I am not. Certainly you have the right to be upset but you seem nearly distraught right now.”

Giles stilled immediately, realizing he had overstepped his bounds. Spike was a proud vampire who did not take kindly to pity. He readied himself to be tossed out, his hand once again straying to his concealed stake.

Spike was staring at him, piercing gaze practically x-raying him. It was unnerving to be so closely scrutinized. He wondered if this is how his books felt… if books had feelings of course.

“You ever believed someone could change?” Spike asked.

He slumped in relief as the vampire showed no sign of throwing him out and nodded, “Of course. Change is a part of nature. It exists in every aspect of our lives.”

“That’s what I thought too. First time I saw the Slayer, I thought she was gonna be an easy death. She was so emotional and so attached to her friends. It was a bad combination. An’ then those same damn friends kept helpin’ her. Every plan, every angle, they were there muckin’ everythin’ up. Even her mum got in on it and brained me with a bloody axe.”

“I remember.” Giles said, thinking back to the doomed parent teacher night.

“Everythin’ was simple then. We were mortal enemies, designed by whatever bloody power you believe in to be perfect counterparts.”

“So, what changed?” Giles asked.

“I saved her at Halloween. I was broken and bleedin’ everywhere and I risked my own neck to save her. An’ it was never the same after, she wouldn’t allow it to be. The contempt, it was gone. Every night she broke into the hospital ta feed me, even asked what my favorite blood type was. Y’know, she’s the one who cleaned my dusters and boots off. I thought you lot were gonna throw ‘em out and instead she washed ‘em for me.”

“I still do not understand why you are angry.” Giles said quietly, knowing he was walking a very fine line.

Spike seemed to curled in on himself, leaning forward so far his head was nearly in his lap.

“Cause I thought it was all real didn’t I?” His voice, hardly above a whisper, broke.

And Giles realized how truly out of his depth he was.

“Vampires, we’re not supposed to be alone. Our Sires are there when we rise and it’s a ready made family. Those who don’t know their Sires form groups with others… like friends. You’ve only ever seen vampires at Hellmouths so you don’t know. Everyone’s always fightin’ here but elsewhere, where’s there’s nothin’ special to claim, we live together in these packs.

“Well my pack left me behind. Darla an’ Angelus an’- an’ Dru. You ever have your entire family walk out on you? The people with the closest bonds to you decide you’re just not important enough? Cause that’s what happened and maybe they had their reasons but they left me behind. Easy I guess, me bein’ the youngest, but no one ever came lookin’ afterwards.

“I tried to make another family best I could. I don’t Sire, never will, so I found vamps who were alright. Harmony was new, I thought I could’ve molded her into somethin’ but it wasn’t right. None of it was it was right. I was angry and still waitin’ for Dru, for someone, to come back so I treated ‘em like Angelus treated me. An’ they all left too.

“So when you lot treated me decent, I thought maybe I didn’t need a family. Maybe I could make do with occasional allies or somethin’. It was nice not havin’ to worry ‘bout someone stabbin’ me in the back or stealin’ from me.

“An’ I know it hasn’t been all that long but… it was enough I suppose. The Slayer helped me get rid of Angelus and her mum always liked me fine. It’s been growin’ for two year. Dru knew it, saw it all in her pretty little head before I did.

“I’m an all or nothin’ type of bloke and I was all in.”

Giles was gobsmacked. Plain and simple.

“Wh-why are you telling me all this?” he asked, unable to formulate any other response.

“There’s no one else.”

Those four words might well have been bullets, they tore into Giles that deeply. To think that Spike’s only confidant was someone he had only been friendly with for two weeks…

“An’ you already know all the stuff I told the Slayer so what’s the point anymore?” Spike was still bent double.

Something in what he said rang with Giles. 

“Buffy never told me what you told her.” he said softly.

“She must’ve. You were in on it together. It’s the only reason…” he trailed off.

“Only reason what?” he pressed gently.

Spike sat up sharply, his entire face twisted, “It’s the only reason you were so fuckin’ nice!”

Giles had never realized how troubled the vampire was. To be paranoid on a level where one could not even distinguish between genuine acts and deception… what had happened to him? He was no expert on the matter but Giles had only ever seen this type of behavior displayed by severely traumatized children. 

“Spike, I promise you that Buffy never told me anything that you said to her.” he said with as much conviction as he could.

The vampire laughed hollowly, “Promises don’t mean much do they Rupes?”

‘Here. Lean on me.’ he was holding her up, her frail frame so delicate in his grasp he feared she would shatter, ‘It’ll be alright.’

‘Promise?’ her voice was so soft, no more than a whisper.

His beautiful Jenny… 

‘I promise.’ he could feel the tension leave her, feel her warmth as she pressed closer to his side as he directed her out of the library.

‘I believe you.’

Giles blinked rapidly, breathing catching as he was assaulted by the memories.

“Even a promise not kept is important.” he reasoned, “It would be asking entirely too much to expect for every vow to be fulfilled.”

“I’ll have to disagree. A promise means somethin’ y’know? It’s like a contract, one that should be branded to your ribs. You should go to the ends of the earth if necessary for it. Makin’ a promise and it bein’ a lie must mean the other person just wasn’t important enough to ya.”

“Some things are out of our control. You of all things should know that what with being a vampire. It was something you did not ask for yet received.”

Spike rolled his eyes, “The world’s out of our control. You can plan ‘till your head explodes and somethin’ will still bollocks everythin’ up. And as for bein’ a vampire, I’d rather it no other way.”

“Was your old life really so terrible that becoming a vampire was preferable?” Giles asked, genuinely curious.

“I dunno, ‘m not the same person am I?”

“Surely you remember though.”

“Course I do,” he snorted, “Just not the same is it? Dwellin’ on the past does no good. It’ll tear you up inside and swallow you whole.”

Giles felt like he was seeing Spike for the first time. In a way he was, he supposed. This was what lived beneath the vampire’s hostile exterior. For as long as he could remember, he had been told that vampires were creatures of pure evil. The demon which existed within them destroyed the humanity until all that remained was violence and brutality. It was a truth that had been proven a thousand times over by millions of recorded attacks.

But just because something has been perceived as truth for eons did not mean it could not change.

“You asked me before if I thought people could change.” Giles said solemnly.

Spike had gotten his emotions back in control and was surveying the ex Watcher boredly from the corner of his eye, closing the small window through which Giles had peeked through. The former Watcher felt concern bubble within him at the quick shift in temperament. 

Spike was like a throbbing ball of energy. When something good happened, he wasn’t happy. He was ecstatic. And when things did not go his way, the fury went far beyond mere irritation. Every emotion was amplified to a point where it was sometimes overwhelming, as if nothing could contain it.

Now, lounging so languidly he was melting into his seat, Spike seemed to have shrunk. 

“That I did.” he affirmed, crossing his arms and pulling his duster folds around him.

“And I said change is a part of nature.” Giles said, making sure his words were being absorbed.

“Not gonna repeat the entire conversation are ya? Cause I might turn all red with embarrassment.” Spike interrupted, his self deprecating joke doing little to alter the morbid mood which had settled over the car.

“Well. I was wrong.” 

For the first time, something akin to humor returned to those dead grey eyes. 

“A Watcher eatin’ his own words? I thought that was impossible for one of you wankers.” Spike said, though the insult had no bite.

Giles held back a smile at the comradic tone the other man had taken. What he had to say next was important and had to be delivered seriously.

“Because I believe that you, Spike, can change - have already begun to in fact. Nothing about vampires are natural, your demon is born of a different dimension entirely. Yet, somehow, you’ve managed it.”

Spike had turned towards him, mouth half open and prepared to give a snarky remark, but did not seem able to form the words. Giles stretched his legs, mindful to not bump his knees against the steering wheel, and settled back, content to give him the time he needed to process what had just transpired.

A year ago, the very mention of Spike’s name would have had him armed to the teeth with every stake and crossbow he possessed, ready for any possible attack. 

A month ago, hearing the blond’s voice would have had him on high alert, though perhaps he would not have bothered with his entire weapons collection. One stake, more for show than anything else, would have sufficed.

A week ago, the constant smell of hair gel (which, he may add, never seemed to wash out from his couch cushions) would have had him indulgently irritated. He would make a show of being aggravated but such behavior was born primarily from habit, not actual detestment.

A day ago, the loss of all that would not have bothered him all that much. His flat would have felt emptier, but he was a long term bachelor. He would be able to open his windows again and let in actual light instead of relying on lamps which would have brightened the place considerably. It would be odd, being able to sit on his own couch and watch his own programs on the telly but eventually all that would fade into normalcy.

And today… well today he realized that it was not just Spike who had changed. Somewhere along this journey, he had begun to enjoy hearing the Passions theme come on at tea time and the sight of someone else’s jacket on his coat rack and the occasional absent minded humming of old English folk songs from his own youth he had nearly forgotten.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all - a Watcher friendly with a vampire. It sounded like a very bad joke. 

“It’s getting late. Perhaps we should return home before the vampires come out.” Giles finally said, glancing out the windshield and noticing it was much darker than when he had first entered the car.

Spike was still gaping at him, “Go back to your place?” he asked, bewildered.

Giles huffed, “Yes. I see no reason why your falling out with Buffy should change our current living arrangements.” the corners of his lips twitched, “And you might want to close your mouth now. You look a bit stupid like that.”

Spike’s jaw instinctively clicked shut as he realized he had not moved for several minutes. His attention was diverted to his jeans pocket, where he was searching for something.

“Do you wish to drive? I fear this… beast is a bit larger than my car.” Giles said, watching the blonde fish out a set of keys.

“Whatever that thing is you have doesn’t count as a car. It’s a bicycle with four wheels.” he deadpanned.

Giles’ retort was paused when Spike’s eyes suddenly widened with realization.

“Oh bloody hell.” he growled, glaring at where the keys dangled from his fingertips.

“What is it?” Giles asked, feeling uneasy.

Spike looked at him blandly, “You’re not gonna like this a bit Rupes but the car’s out of petrol. We’re gonna have to push it back.”

Giles took every word of it back. He was going to shove his stake right through the idiot’s chest and dust him…

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say Buffy was panicking was an understatement. She had passed panic about an hour ago and was now on to full blown hysteria. It was not reasonable to be such a mess but after close to five hours of searching and not finding so much as a single bleached hair, she could not imagine anything less horrifying than disembowelment had happened to Spike. 

He had plenty of enemies of the demon variety. The fact he was patrolling with her had spread through the vampire community at record speed and most were hardly pleased. From what Willy said when she had paid his bar a visit earlier in the evening, a good portion of the Hellmouth’s finest could not wait to get their hands/claws on the traitorous vamp.

She had intended to search well into the night but an hour after dark had fallen, the sleep deprivation had finally caught up to her. Heading back to the college, she had dusted a few vampires, questioning each one about Spike, but not one seemed to know where he was.

The campus was quite busy despite the late hour and Buffy had to take care to make sure she did not bump into anyone as she ambled towards her dorm building. The stairs proved to be nearly impossible for her heavy feet to manage, her toes somehow always missing the next step.

By the time she reached her dorm, she was exhausted. Shoving the key into the lock, she flung open the door and kicked it shut, making directly for her bed.

“Um Buffy? You okay?”

Buffy stopped short and spun to see Willow sitting at her desk, hair still wet from her shower.

“Oh Will! I didn’t see you there.” she said, forcing back a yawn.

“I see that.” Willow set aside her brush and stood up, “You’re home really early. Not much happen on patrol?”

It was odd for her to see Willow. For the last month, the two had barely spoken. No sooner would classes end that Willow would go scampering off to hang out with her Wicca friends. Buffy was happy to see her getting along with other people, especially after the Oz incident, but it also meant she had not shared much about her own life with the redhead.

In fact, Willow had no idea she had been patrolling with Spike. Or talking with Spike. Or… anything with the vampire. It spoke volumes with how badly things had disintegrated that her best friend had no idea about who she spent most of her time with.

“Yeah patrol was a bit quiet. I went out early and got some vamps who were still sleeping.” Buffy shrugged, not caring to really elaborate further.

“Oh I almost forgot! Giles called about ten minutes ago and wanted you to call him back.” Willow said, laying down on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees.

Buffy made for the phone, dialing Giles quickly. If he had called, then he must have some news about Spike.

“Hello? Rupert Giles speaking-”

“Giles, it’s Buffy.” she cut him off.

“Oh good, Willow passed on my message?”

“Yeah. What’s up?” she asked, forcing herself to sit down so she did not start pacing.

“I just wanted to inform you that Spike is back at my flat.”

He was holding something back, she could tell just by his tone.

“Is everything okay? With him I mean.” she ignored the curious look Willow was giving her.

“Oh yes, everything is fine. Buffy, I know how anxious you are to come over here but I strongly advise against it.”

That deflated her a bit, “How come? It’s no big deal, I could be over there in a few minutes.”

“Yes I know you are ready.” he stressed ‘you’.

She blinked, realizing what he was implying. As ready as she was to race out the door, Spike probably wanted nothing to do with her right now. At least he was with Giles which meant he had not killed anyone which was of the good.

“Oh okay. Another time then?” her cheery tone sounded false to her.

“Yes. I will keep you informed. Goodnight Buffy.”

“Night Giles.” she hung up and flopped back onto her bed soberly.

So Spike still wanted nothing to do with her. It was a sentiment she understood but she wondered why Giles now seemed to be on the vampire’s side. From what she had seen of their interactions, they were not particularly close. Actually, they seemed to enjoy riling each other up. 

Rolling onto her side, she sighed. High school used to be so easy…

“What did Giles want?” Willow asked.

“Just some patrol stuff.” she lied.

It did not feel right lying to Willow but Buffy was not interested in rehashing what had happened between her and Spike with yet another person. 

“Oh. It sounded important.” Willow noted.

“Just some vamps I saw near Restfield. No biggie.”

Willow nodded, satisfied with the information. More guilt, if that was possible, managed to wiggle into Buffy’s middle at the thought of deceiving yet another person.

“Hey Will, I’m having a bit of a party for all of us on Christmas Eve so we can exchange gifts and stuff. You could bring some of your Wicca friends. I mean, Xander gets to bring Anya so I figure everyone gets a plus one.”

Willow seemed to brighten at the idea, “Oh cool! I’ve just been hanging out with this one person though. Wicca group was kinda not what I was expecting. Her name is Tara and she’s so good at magic, you should see.”

“Well you can introduce her to everyone at the party.” Buffy smiled.

“Oh that’s great. She doesn’t seem to have many friends so this could be good for her. I’ll ask her tomorrow!” 

Feeling she had at least somewhat made amends, Buffy got up to change before going to bed. Pulling off her top, she noticed her blue Psychology notebook from where it rested on her desk.

And just like that her stomach was in knots again...

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Giles set the phone on its receiver and looked over to where Spike was sprawled on the couch. The vampire had been quiet during the entire phone call, meaning he had definitely been eavesdropping on the conversation. 

Admittedly, Spike had not said very much in the last hour. He had helped Giles push the car the mile back to his flat without uttering so much as a single curse word. The monstrous vehicle was now parked across the street, as obviously out of place in the clean cut neighborhood as Spike himself was.

The moment he had gotten in, Giles had rung up Buffy to save her from worrying. In hindsight, he should have notified her about his plans to search but he had been rather out of sorts. He hoped she had not worried herself too badly.

“I know you have not eaten in the last twenty-four hours but I have no more blood in the fridge. You’ll have to make do until tomorrow night I’m afraid.” he said, making his way into the kitchen to assess when he would have to go food shopping again.

“Fine.” Spike replied distantly as Giles rummaged through his cereal cabinet.

“I can make something if that helps. I’m not well versed in how your digestive system works.” He pulled out a nearly empty box of Cornflakes and shook it experimentally.

“Okay.” the blond said, a dull hum signaling he had turned on the television.

Giles replaced the box and moved on to the refrigerator, “There are some turkey slices left over. Perhaps sandwiches then?” he asked, pulling out a loaf of slightly squashed bread.

“Mm-hmm.” Spike agreed, raising the volume of the television as he settled on a cop program.

Giles sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly as he leaned his elbows against the counter. As often as he complained about how much Spike talked, this new silence was even worse. He had thought that after their talk in the car, everything between the two of them had been cleared up.

“Spike, is something wrong?” he asked, deciding to take the direct approach.

The vampire’s gaze never wavered from the car chase he was watching, “Nope.”

The monosyllabic responses were beginning to wear Giles a little thin. It was late, he had just pushed a car halfway across town, and now Spike had reverted back to being closed off with information. What he had shared earlier had clearly been born more from emotional than rational thinking. Had Spike been calmer, Giles was certain he would not have shared even half of what he had.

He was too tired to incite another potential argument however, and for the time being, let it slide.

Deciding he was no longer hungry, Giles turned off the kitchen light and walked to his desk. Sitting down, he reclined as far as the seat allowed him, and stretched his legs. His calf muscles were giving him Hell and he was reminded he was no longer the spry young man he had always seen himself as.

Straightening in his chair, he reached over to turn on the lamp. The warm light fell across the dark oak desktop, settling on his guitar case where it was squeezed next to the wall. It had been some time since he had last played, at least one apocalypse ago. 

Reaching for the case, he dragged it out from its hiding place and inspected it. The black surface was covered in peeling stickers from his youth. Most were band logos though a few were rather tasteless quotes hearkening back from his punk days.

Settling it on his lap, he opened the case. The familiar creak as the old hinges protested sent a shiver down his spine. It was a sound he was quite familiar with, like a parents voice. The guitar inside was immaculate, not even a speck of dust cloying the shiny wooden surface.

Pulling it out gently, his hands settled into familiar positions as if he had only played yesterday. For a moment, he strummed softly and tuned. His hands went through a set of scales, fumbling slightly. After only a few more tries, however, his fingers were moving nimbly over the strings.

It felt liberating to play after so long, half forgotten melodies prancing through him at will. As he became more confident, he settled nostalgically into a song.

The style was not his norm, much quieter than what he usually listened to but it had always been one of his favorites.

After strumming partway through, he began to sing softly, volume increasing as he became more enthralled.

“I am just a poor boy  
Though my story’s seldom told  
I have squandered my resistance  
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises  
All lies and jests  
Still a man hears what he wants to hear  
And disregards the rest”

He never even noticed when the television was turned off, his foot tapping out a bass part.

“When I left my home and my family  
I was no more than a boy  
In the company of strangers  
In the quiet of the railway station  
Running scared -”

His finger skidded alarmingly, the song shattering into pieces as he missed the next note. He shook his head ruefully, the moment broken.

“Simon and Garfunkel?” a voice asked from right next to him.

Giles yelped, nearly toppling the chair as he spun to see Spike leaning over beside him.

“What in God’s name are you doing, you wanker?” Giles swore, his heart hammering hard enough in his chest for him to fear a heart attack.

Spike grinned, a real grin that lit up his eyes, “I didn’t know you played.” he offered.

“I don’t very often.” Giles was torn between embarrassment and amusement.

He had forgotten Spike was in the flat when he started playing otherwise he probably would not have sung. He most certainly did not want to be mocked for something he considered himself enjoying as a hobby. On the other hand, this was the first time the blond seemed genuinely happy since last night. He could take a few snarky remarks if it broke the tension that had developed between them again.

“You should.” Spike said simply.

It was the first compliment he had ever paid Giles and the former Watcher could not help the small swell of pride he felt. Buffy and the others had never heard him play, much less sing, but judging by the “music” they typically listened to… well he was glad his abilities had not been wasted on an unappreciative audience.

“I was in a band in my youth.” Giles admitted, looking down at the guitar adoringly.

He had found it, of all places, on the curb on garbage day. Rescuing the instrument, he had brought it home, much to the ire of his father who thought the guitar unbecoming of a future Watcher. For the last thirty years, it had been as much a part of him as his glasses. It was the only possession he had taken with him when he left the Watcher’s Council for Oxford and had survived more than one alcohol induced bar brawl.

Spike was surveying the instrument with a keen eyes. Giles noted his fingers were tapping his denim thigh impatiently, as if those nail polished fingers were desperate to slide across the glossy wooden surface.

Giles held out the guitar, “Do you play?” he asked.

Spike looked surprised, though he took the instrument. Not bothering with the neck strap, he held it carefully and strummed experimentally.

“I haven’t played for awhile. Dru never liked me having it ‘round and ‘sides, it was too bulky to transport when we snuck onto airplanes for travel.” Spike said, plucking tunelessly at the strings.

Giles watched his fingers move, “So, are you going to play something?” he asked.

Spike frowned thoughtfully before beginning to play something that sounded familiar to Giles. It was not a song meant for an acoustic guitar, that much he knew, but he just could not place it. He waited for Spike to start singing but the blond’s mouth stayed shut as he continued to play.

“You don’t sing?” he asked, curious.

Spike was so loud in all his endeavors that for him to defer singing seemed rather out of character.

“M not a good singer.” he shrugged, looking at his left hand as he continued to play.

“Try it.” Giles advised, “It’s more fun.”

“Didn’t know you knew what fun meant.” Spike’s lip curled as he fought back a smile.

“Oh just do it you sod. We’re the only two here.” Giles gestured impressively around the empty flat.

Spike rolled his eyes, “Have to start over then don’t I?” he asked.

He seemed to have no problem with this, however, and restarted the song, his fingers stretching for notes that were almost out of reach.

“Just a castaway  
An island lost at sea  
Another lonely day  
With no one here but me  
More loneliness  
Than any man could bear  
Rescue me before I fall into despair”

Spike’s rough accent sounded quite similar to the real song which Giles was now able to correctly identify as “Message in a Bottle” by The Police. It was the last song he had expected the blonde to play - his entire style screamed heavy punk - but his rendition was nicely done all the same.

“See? No big deal.” Giles said, “You’re not too bad at that.”

Spike continued playing though he did not sing any further, “No one’s ever complimented my singin’ before.” he said casually, repeating the chorus.

Giles held back a frown, not wanting to break the moment.

“Surely your parents enjoyed your singing?” he asked, the idea that no one had ever paid the blond a compliment for something he was clearly talented at bothering him.

Spike’s finger slipped, the melody falling apart. He did not even try to salvage it, instead letting the vibrations die off beneath his fingers. The grin slid off his face too, replaced by a brooding look that was akin to Angel’s regular expression.

“Didn’t start singin’ ‘till after I was turned.” he said, “I was tone deaf before gettin’ the sensitive vampire hearing.” He abruptly thrusted the instrument back at Giles, “Thanks for lettin’ me play it though.”

Giles took the guitar back wordlessly, unsure what had caused the good mood to die. Tucking the instrument back into its case, he watched Spike from the corner of his eye. The vampire was making up his bed on the couch, moving pillows and laying out a blanket. As he watched him, Giles stifled a yawn, feeling tired himself. Replacing the case in the dusty corner, he got up and turned off the desk lamp.

“I’m turning in for the night.” he said awkwardly, heading for the stairs.

“Ta.” Spike replied, curling up under the blanket and pulling it over his head.

Feeling uneasy, Giles retreated upstairs to change. Bringing up Spike’s parents seemed to be a very bad idea. He wondered if Buffy knew why-

No, absolutely not. He was not going to ask Buffy for any of the information she had learned about Spike - he owed the man that much.

Settling into bed, he set his glasses on the nightstand and listened downstairs for his roommate. The flat was silent aside from his own breathing and, content everything was well, he rolled over and fell asleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Giles jerked awake, sitting upright in alarm. He looked around wildly for whatever had awoken him. Realizing he could not see, he fumbled for his glasses, nearly knocking them to the floor. Putting them on, he looked around the balcony. 

Nothing was moving, not even the shadows littering the walls from the few windows with no curtains. Laying back slowly, he exhaled. Something had definitely woken him up, perhaps a car had backfired outside.

He had nearly dozed off again when a whining sound reached him. Sitting up again, he slid out of bed and into his slippers. Approaching the railing, he peered down at the main floor cautiously and immediately realized what had made the noise.

Spike was tossing and turning, completely tangled in his blanket. Even as Giles watched, another wailing noise issued from him, accompanied by more moving.

‘He’s having another nightmare.’ Giles realized.

He hurried towards the stairs, intent on waking the other man as quickly as possible. This one seemed more violent than the last, the sounds Spike was making sounding like he was in severe pain.

Just as he was about to descent however, the sound cut off with a loud gasp. Standing on the top step, Giles looked down the banister to where Spike was sitting up on the couch, entire body rigid.

Neither man moved for a long moment. From somewhere far off, a car drove by.

Spike broke first, crumbling in on himself in a strangled sob. His forehead hit his knees as he bowed, shoulders shaking so hard the entire couch was rattling.

Giles remained where he was uncertain as to what to do. If he approached Spike now, the vampire would become angry and embarrassed. But he looked close to having a full scale fit so perhaps intervening now would be better in the long run.

The decision was taken from his as Spike’s head rose and he roared, “FUCK!”

Giles flinched at the loud noise, gripping the railing tightly with a sweaty hand. Spike was looking up towards the balcony and Giles stepped back into the shadows, hoping he would not be seen. 

“Fuck.” the blond said again, though much quieter.

Giles decided to let Spike decide how the rest of the night would play out. Sliding out of his slippers, he clunked down the stairs noisily to alert him. Spike immediately dove back under his blanket and feigned sleep, face pressed into the couch back.

Bypassing the living room, Giles made directly for the kitchen. Opening several cabinets, he searched for a box he hardly ever used. In fact, it had probably been Xander who had bought it for him, the boy having a particular abhorrence for tea.

Finding the box lurking behind the flour, he set it on the counter and opened the fridge next, taking out the milk. From here, it was purely guesswork as he mixed the powder from the box and milk into a mug before setting it in the microwave.

It had been by pure happenstance that he had learned from Mrs. Summers about Spike’s fascination with hot chocolate. The two had passed each other in the supermarket shortly after a drunken Spike had returned to Sunnydale and Joyce had mentioned the chocolate drink.

The microwave pinged and Giles opened the door, careful to touch only the handle. Carrying the cup carefully, he entered the living room. Spike was well hidden, only a few fluorescent hairs poking out from beneath his blanket.

Setting the mug on the coffee table with a loud clunk, Giles retreated back upstairs with a small smile.

It was most unfortunate that the former Watcher did not know that what he had in his house was cocoa powder, not hot chocolate powder. It was not a terrible mistake, aside from the fact that one needed to add sugar to the cocoa powder to make it sweet, otherwise it was terribly bitter.

But Giles knew none of this. And he was already asleep by the time one pale hand snaked out to take the mug. 

He never heard the sputtering sounds from downstairs as Spike choked on the terrible tasting mixture. Nor was he aware as the vampire drank the whole cup, shivering and choking the entire time.

When morning came, Giles would be delighted to find the empty mug sitting on the coffee table. He would not question why Spike looked positively green the entire morning and declined to share breakfast with him.


	10. Remember When

Buffy paced anxiously in the small courtyard at Giles’, her heeled boots clicking on the cobblestone. She had made a complete circuit around the disused fountain twice already hoping to calm her nerves but the fear, far from dissipating, seemed to be growing exponentially with every step she took.

It had been nine days since she had last seen Spike. Giles called her every evening so they could talk over where she would patrol but had remained closed lipped about the vampire. Buffy suspected this was, at least in part, because Spike was doing his best to eavesdrop. Giles’ apartment was not exactly giant and she knew from past experience that keeping a conversation private was impossible in the small space.

Yesterday was the first time the idea of her visiting to apologize had come up. Giles had made it clear that, while Spike was still displeased with her, his anger had died down to cold indifference and he believed her to be in no danger. 

Every night after patrol, she had dropped off blood bags in Giles’ mailbox for Spike. Sometimes she would try and peak through the curtained windows. Most of the time nothing could be made out, but once or twice someone had left a small bit uncovered.

It was odd to watch Giles and Spike interact. Whatever hostility the two had felt for one another had faded completely. The two would joke and laugh, seeming far more comfortable around each other than she thought possible. Seeing a genuine friendship begin to sprout between the two only served to make her feel worse. If Giles, whose distaste of vampires had been cultured for centuries could learn to get along with one without deception, then why had she been incapable of doing the same?

The door was coming up again as she finished her third revolution around the courtyard and she slowed her pace, preparing to go up and knock. Her hand had gone so far as to grasp the knocker when her courage failed.

‘One more time and then I’ll knock,’ she thought, resuming her prior path.

Damage control was so not her thing, she usually fixed things with violence, not talking. And Spike was so easy to hit sometimes.

‘No Buffy. Absolutely NO hitting,’ she flexed her hands as if to remind them too that there would be no displays of aggression.

If Xander knew what she was doing right now, his eyes would probably pop out of his head. He would rattle off a list of every bad thing Spike had ever done, even if it were as simple as not tipping a bartender, in order to get her to see reason. Even Willow would be uncomfortable with the notion of her trusting the blond vampire, the whole kidnapping thing had not been easily forgotten.

But did Buffy necessarily care what they thought? 

From what she had seen, it was kindness that had awakened the humanity in Spike. Since she had offered him a warm place to stay, he had not so much as mentioned hurting her or the others. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his head, the evilness diminishing some.

She was nearly at Giles’ door again, the single piece of wood seeming more daunting than a horde of vampires. Stopping a few steps short, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

The next ten minutes were going to be far from pleasant. 

She had spent all morning trying to think of a suitable apology but her words always sounded forced and in-genuine. It did not help that she had no idea what type of mood Spike was currently in. He could be anywhere from spitting mad to drown yourself in the bathtub depressed depending on how the last few days had gone. Despite what Giles had said, she did not entirely trust his assessment of the vampire. Spike was a good liar, good enough to fool himself sometimes. 

Buffy knew she had touched something raw deep within him with her poor choice of words. Coupled with his suspicion, the two had created an atomic mix. She had not seen the aftermath but it definitely had not been good.

The click of a lock dragged her back to the present and she watched in alarm as her wooden enemy swung open to reveal a tousle haired Giles.

He was still unshaven and in his sleepwear despite it being past noon, the scent of coffee wafting from the mug he held in his hand.

“Are you ready to come in?” he asked, a trifle annoyed, “Or do you wish to continue pacing?”

“Gee, what has you so ruffled?” Buffy asked.

“I do apologize. I was up rather late last night and I’m afraid I did not get much sleep.” He stepped aside to let her enter, taking a sip of his coffee.

Buffy walked into the apartment with some trepidation, “What were you doing up?” she asked, “And if it was in any way related to an apocalypse, I don’t want to hear about it until after finals.” her eyes widened slightly, “Please tell me it’s not another apocalypse.”

“Oh it’s nothing as… erm, exciting as the end of the world. I was merely going over some of my texts that dealt with ancient myths.” He closed the door, scratching at his jaw with his free hand.

Buffy was careful to keep her full focus on Giles, not ready to chance seeing the other inhabitant of the apartment. 

“Ancient myths? Why?” she asked.

“I was comparing my knowledge with Spike’s. He hears much more than I do, having a direct pipeline to the rest of the demon community.” Giles moved towards his desk, “We lost track of time.”

Buffy’s next words were lost as she stared at the utter mess Giles’ normally immaculate work space had become. Books, more books that she had ever seen, littered every available surface. They were stacked on the floor, on chairs, even on the stairs. Most were opened, frail yellow pages covered in languages she had never seen before. It was like a library had exploded and she should know, having witnessed one to just that only six months ago.

“I didn’t know you owned this many books.” she said, her original reason for visiting completely forgotten for the moment.

“I keep most of my collection in storage unless otherwise needed.” Giles said, “Now, why don’t you take a seat in the dining room? Spike and I were just finishing breakfast.”

Oh yeah… suddenly the books did not seem even remotely interesting anymore. 

“Right-o” she said awkwardly, turning to face the dining room table.

Giles had already sat down and was attacking his plate of - was that beans and toast? 

‘Focus Buffy.’ she snapped at herself, ‘Save the weird breakfast questions for later. Right now is apologizing time.’

Steeling herself, she swung her gaze to the opposite side of the table.

What she saw made her face catch fire, the blush she felt so intense that it practically burned her.

Spike was sitting, feet up on the table, reading the paper. He was wearing a purple button up shirt but it was completely open, exposing way too much skin. A piece of toast was hanging from his mouth, his concentration mostly taken with whatever he was reading. His too big jeans were slung low, waaay low, on narrow hips.

It was, without a doubt, the sexiest thing she had ever seen in person.

“What are you DOING?” she exploded, brain overheating.

Spike closed the paper partly and leaned sideways a bit to get a look at her, “M ‘eaing ‘e ‘apa.” he said around the toast.

“Please do not speak with food in your mouth.” Giles said, not even looking up from his breakfast, “And feet off the table.”

Ignoring the second half of the request, Spike set the paper aside and crammed the rest of the toast in his mouth, giving a massive swallow. Crumbs fell and scattered across his chest and Buffy really needed to stop looking right freaking now. 

“I’m reading the paper.” he reiterated, “What’s it to you?”

“Y-you… your shirt is all open and stuff!” she pointed sharply at his bare torso.

“Buffy…” Giles cautioned, finally abandoning his food.

“No! Every time I have something important to say he’s all… all…” she couldn’t say it, not in front of Giles, “And it’s… make him put something else on!”

Spike looked at her coldly, “I would Slayer but Rupes only has so many shirts and between the two of us…” he did not finish.

Giles coughed, “I let the laundry slip and the only thing I had for him to wear was that button up. It’s quite small, someone gave to me as a gift, so he-”

“I couldn’t button it. Too muscly and all.” Spike’s tongue peeked out, though there was no amusement in his eyes. 

“If it really does bother you so much…” Giles frowned, realizing that while he did not particularly care how the bleached blond dressed, he did not want Buffy seeing quite so much of the other man.

“N-no it’s fine. It was just…” - sensual, gorgeous, - “unexpected.” she finished.

Uncomfortable with having everyone’s attention still focused on her, Buffy took a seat next to Giles. Taking his coffee mug, she took a small sip, trying to compose herself again. Her brain still felt all mushy, like it was leaking out of her ear. Resisting the urge to check, she set the mug aside and turned her attention to Spike.

He was finishing off what remained of his breakfast, plate balanced in his lap. His hair was unstyled and stood up in tufty blond peaks like a mini snow covered mountain range.

“Um… Spike?” she asked, unsure how else to start the conversation.

His eyes flickered up to meet her’s, expression unreadable. 

“I wanted to apologize for… well everything I guess.” she continued after several seconds of awkward silence.

“Already said that, pet.” he was still oddly calm.

“I know that. I just wanted to… say it again.” this was not going well.

“There’s no need. We don’t owe each other anythin’ right?” he said matter of factly as he tossed the paper to Giles, “S’not like we’re friends or somethin’. ‘M still a vampire yeah?”

Giles was watching the two cautiously, prepared to intervene.

Dread bubbled in her gut at the glib responses her words were eliciting. She’d rather he was furious and throwing things than sitting there acting like nothing had happened. He was hiding his feelings, protecting himself in indifference she realized. 

This was all a misunderstanding… mostly. If she could just explain herself then everything would be alright.

“Tell me Slayer, why are you really here?” Spike asked, one brow arching.

“Because I want to make this right!” she said loudly, unable to hide her mounting frustration. 

“Why?” he stressed.

Why? She had a dozen reasons, though he would probably kill her if she said half of them. 

“This is all a misunderstanding. I wasn’t using you for information, I just wanted to know more about you.” She ignored the small frown Giles gave her as she skipped some parts of the truth, “And I did a terrible thing, manipulating you to get you to talk, but I thought… I don’t even know what I thought! Everything’s all messed up! Spike I swear that I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t so don’t flatter yourself.” his lip curled in contempt.

“I did. I know I did.” she said defiantly.

He glared, body tensing, “And how ‘xactly do you know?”

“Because the same thing happened to me. Parker, he lied and lied to get me to do what he wanted. I thought it was real, all of it. You were there when it all came crashing down remember? And the betrayal was too much for me to take. You feel stuff too - anger and joy and admiration - so yeah, I do know I hurt you because it hurt me. And I want to make amends because it took me a long time to get over it but having someone else helped, you helped. All that despair, you turned it to anger and kept me afloat.”

‘I know it’s not fair, not a bit of it. People like us don’t get to choose what we are. It’s a curse given to us by the powers that be and it sucks sometimes. But we make the best of it everyday. Cause otherwise there’s no point in existin’ at all.’

“Why do you even care so bloody much!” he snarled, “I’m a monster, always have been. I kill for fun and revel in it.”

“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” she retorted.

“Don’t test me Slayer.” He was keeping his demon at bay by sheer will.

She could see the struggle, the skin on his face twitching as the bone structure threatened to shift.

“My name is Buffy… William.”

He stood so quickly the plates rattled. His chair fell backwards, upended by the force. Hands planted on the table, he leaned forward.

“Don’t you ever use that name!” he spat at her, “William is dead!”

His reaction startled her and she pushed her chair backwards in spite of herself to put some distance between them.

“Both of you, enough!” Giles intervened, “Buffy, I’m sorry but you need to leave. Spike, if you hurt her I swear to God…”

Buffy ignored Giles, instead rising to her own feet. Reaching forward, she fisted her hands in the collar of Spike’s shirt and pulled him closer to her. Losing his balance, he fell across the table. Their faces were only a few inches apart, so close she could count every dot of runny egg yellow in his eyes oozing through pale blue.

She had never seen the change from so close before, see the humanity literally become swallowed by the demon. Angel had always been so careful to hide this part of himself from her. 

Spike shuddered, minuscule trembles that she could feel beneath her hands, and the yellow drained away. He was breathing heavily, as though he were physically holding the demon back. 

“I’m so, so sorry Spike. Your fits, the nightmares, they’re all my fault aren’t they? I’ve been digging in your head but I never thought the memories could still hurt.” she whispered morosely, “And it’s killing you to know that the one person you knew you shouldn’t trust was the one who did it. I wish I could go back and do this the right way.”

Please. Please just listen, she thought desperately.

He looked tired, eyelids partially closed, “You keep sayin’ these types of things. Maybe it makes you feel better, I dunno. It’s a nice thought an’ all but I don’t give a damn Slayer. Stop actin’ like we had a spat in the schoolyard. ‘M a vampire and you’re the Slayer. This was all temporary anyway.”

His hands wrapped around her’s, prying himself from her grasp. Straightening his shirt, he picked up his breakfast plate and walked to the kitchen. The sound of splashing water echoed as he turned on the sink faucet.

Spike’s words rang in her head, multiplying and bouncing with so much vigor it made her head hurt. Shaking her head, she glanced towards the door, not wanting to see the disapproving look Giles was certainly sporting.

The coat rack near the door was fuller than last time, a leather duster hanging amongst the collection of tweed jackets and coats. Next to it was a small table where Giles kept his wallet and other necessities. Laying beside his car keys was another pair, the Chrysler logo adorning it meaning they belonged to Spike’s DeSoto.

Now that she was paying more attention, she noticed the vampire’s stuff was everywhere.

A collection of CDs had appeared on the shelf next to the television along with a dented radio, the bottles in the opened liquor cabinet were brands she did not know, a battle axe and several knives were grouped on the coffee table along with a battered leather notebook with curling edges. 

Spike’s influence had gone beyond mere possessions however, the entire apartment felt more lived in somehow. Giles always kept everything so neat that it was almost impossible to find even a speck of dust usually. Now, a blanket was folded messily over the back of the couch and the pillows had been re-arranged. Someone had moved the weapons trunk to the other side of the room, a pair of muddy boots resting on top of it. The fireplace looked used, a thin layer of soot covering the wooden floor boards directly in front of it.

Spike returned from the kitchen, shirt in serious danger of falling off his shoulders completely, bringing an end to her surveillance.

“Still here?” he asked disinterestedly.

“Yep,” she said.

“Bloody brilliant,” he muttered with an eye roll, retreating back down the hallway.

Giles’ firm hand landed on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off doggedly. Spike was not going to simply walk away from this, no way. Following the vampire, she was brought up short when he entered the bathroom.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, “Dunno ‘bout you but I’m takin’ a shower.”

He went to close the door but she caught it with her hand, shoving it open again. His head cocked as he looked down, staring at her predatory.

“Careful Goldilocks. Tease the dog too much and you might get bit.”

“Don’t call me Goldilocks,” she said, not releasing the door, “I’m not leaving until we talk about this.”

“Did that already five minutes ago ‘member? Now unless you want to join me in the shower, which I wouldn’t necessarily say no to,” - his eyes slid down her form - “get lost.”

“Will you stop deflecting! You can pretend all you want that this doesn’t bother you but I know better. I know you Spike.”

He leered at her, “You don’t know the first thing ‘bout me.”

“I know that you’re scared of being alone,” she said quietly.

He grinned humorlessly, “How’d you figure?”

Over the last nine days, Buffy had devoured her Psychology textbook, reading everything she could to figure out what to do about Spike. Originally, she had been trying to learn about grudge holding and the like but the chapter that had sparked her interest most had been about loneliness.

It had been difficult to shift through Spike’s behaviors, categorizing them by either human or demonic influence, but what she had finally come up with had surprised her.

“You said vampires aren’t supposed to be alone right?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. She could tell she was beginning to wear on him, poking holes in his veil of anger and indifference. What lay underneath though… she had no idea.

“Yeah, suppose I did,” he relented, though it looked like agreeing with her was causing him physical pain.

“Humans aren’t supposed to either.”

“Not human though am I? Vampire.” He pointed to himself like she was an idiot.

“You’ve never been alone before this year, not really. You had your mother when you were human and the second Drusilla changed you, you belonged with her. Now, it’s just us, The Scoobies.” She could see the holes getting bigger, his body slumping in defeat. “You know, people who are afraid of being alone have certain behaviors. They turn on the television often so they feel like other people are around, they hang out with people even if they don’t like them, and they sometimes do things to direct attention onto themselves. Sound like anyone we know?”

“Y’know Angelus always had this thing about bein’ annoyin’. Maybe he was lon-”

Smack.

She had not intended to hit him, that had been her mantra walking in, but she had official reached the end of her patience. 

He fell backwards from the force and landed hard on the tiled floor. Blood was welling from his newly split lip and he dabbed at it with his thumb, checking.

“What was that for?” he barked. 

She bore down on him, placing her legs on either side of his feet as she stared down at his sprawled form. From this position, he looked pathetic, propped up on his elbows with a too tight shirt stretched taut across his shoulders and too large jeans sliding down his hips despite the belt.

“For being an ass,” she said sharply. “I’m here to apologize because this matters to me and here you are, acting like it’s some big inconvenience. It’s insulting to me and you.”

He flopped back, head hitting the floor with a dull thud. 

“I hate this,” he whispered.

“Hate what?” Now that he was content to actually talk, she lowered her voice.

Stepping away from him, she sat on the closed toilet, her feet resting beside his head.

“Everythin’. I hate SunnyHell. I hate the memories. And I really hate you.” He turned his face away from her, “I don’t know what you’ve bloody done to me but I want it to stop.”

“What did I do?” she asked uncomprehendingly.

“You were right before… I am William.” He lashed out with his bare foot, kicking the wall and leaving a hole in the plaster, “I can feel him fightin’ the demon and he’s brought with him a century’s worth of pain and sufferin’. An’ he likes you, won’t let me do a thing to harm you. So when you hurt me… he won’t stop fuckin’ cryin’.

“He hurts so bad and I can’t stop it. Every insult, every look of disgust, you kept breakin’ him. God, I don’t want to feel anymore. I wish I’d never met you because I can’t do this. I can’t keep fightin’ him back and when he takes control… I get sucked towards this hole.

“I don’t even know which part is me anymore. The demon’s been in control for so long but what if William was there the whole time? What if… what if I never had to be the monster?” He choked off, flinging an arm across his face to hide tears falling unhindered, “Angelus and Dru wanted me to be evil and I wanted their acceptance so bad… maybe I just pretended and pretended until I believed it myself.”

“Spike…” She was horror struck, watching the sobs wrack his thin frame.

“Vampires don’t feel because it’ll kill us. But I tried to change for you, thought maybe I could be different. If you could see William, see what you’ve done to him… You’re the monster!” He sat up sharply, lips pulled back in a snarl though tears were still streaming down his face.

What had she done?

Wordlessly, she reached out for him, trying to offer some type of comfort. It suddenly did not matter he was a vampire or she was the Slayer. 

He jerked away from her touch, a growl rumbling from his chest like a cornered dog. His eyes were swollen with tears but the hatred burning through those slits was enough to scald her.

“I’m pathetic.” One of his hands fisted in his short hair, pulling fiercely, “You were nice to me and I rolled over like a bloody mutt, beggin’ for more. The demon wants to kill you so badly, wants to rip open your gut and strangle you with your own intestines for makin’ me your dog. But William loves it, he survives on pity. 

“I shoulda known better but I… I liked it too fuckin’ much too walk away. And you were actin’ like we were friends. It… damnit it made me so bloody happy to think that I’d found someone who wasn’t gonna leave. But what you did was s-so much worse. I wish I’d died in Prague, thinkin’ D-Dru loved me and havin’ never s-seen your face.” He could get no more out, the crying and emotional burden overwhelming him completely.

Buffy reached out again, trying to ground herself. Her own vision was blurred with tears and her center was radiating coldness that seemed to freeze even her heart.

She ignored that William existing meant Spike had not lost his humanity. She ignored that he could control his demon. She even ignored his confession of some part of him wanting to kill her.

All that mattered to her now was consoling him.

Reaching out again, she touched his shoulder. His skin was icy from being against the bathroom floor but she did not withdraw from him. He was shaking so badly his teeth were chattering, the small clicks just audible over the pained whimpers he was making.

Her other hand reached up to where his fingers were still pulling furiously at his hair. Gently, she worked her way under his fingers, stroking them as she loosened their grip. Several blond pieces had been yanked loose by his ferocity, the skin red with irritation, but she merely ran her hand through the roots soothingly.

She had never seen a grown man cry like this, aside from when she had been ten and her father’s aunt had died. Instincts guided her, a primal need to stop his pain pushing out everything else.

These tears of loneliness, of betrayal, of confusion and anger and unworthiness, she was familiar with them. She wondered how often he had refused to allow himself to cry, how often his vampire ‘family’ had forbidden such a display.

He was crying for everything he had ever lost and she was afraid he might never stop.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, slipping off the toilet and kneeling on the floor before him. In this position, he was hardly an inch taller than her and it was easy for her to bring his unresisting head to her shoulder. 

It never even occurred to her that this put his mouth against her neck.

As cold as he was, the tears were boiling. They soaked into her shirt, the heat traveling across her arm and neck. She wrapped an arm around his back, still stroking his hair, and held him tightly. 

It was the same position her mother used to put her in as a child when she had cried. Spike stiffened at the contact, the unfamiliarity confusing him and she felt sorrow shoot through her stomach.

Had no one ever held him like this when he was upset? 

The sobs died off slowly, tears continuing to fall silently long after he had stopped shaking. Her knees ached from the floor but she made no move to readjust herself, fearful he would misinterpret it as her trying to leave. 

When he rose his head, the fabric of her shirt clung to him, the slight tug signalling to her he was aware again. Gently, she pulled her arms back, unsure what would happen now.

Spike drew back from her on his knees, putting space between them. Careful to not look at him, she rose carefully, lower body protesting the stretching. For the first time, she looked up and found Giles standing in the doorway.

The older man looked ashen, face drawn with sorrow. She had no idea how much he had witnessed, her attention had been focused solely on Spike.

Silently, he gestured for her to follow him. She looked back at Spike but he was not moving, only his chest expanding slightly with slow, shallow breaths.

Not wanting to leave but at the same time feeling overwhelmed, she followed Giles back into the living room. He did not sit but instead paced anxiously while she collapsed onto the couch. It was a bad move as the same scent of leather and hair gel that she had noticed on Spike in the bathroom was coming off the couch in waves.

“Perhaps it was not the best idea for you to visit,” Giles said.

“You think?” Buffy replied hollowly.

It started as weak chuckle but soon the two were laughing. It was that or cry really, the intense emotional scene leaving both of them drained. Once it died off, Giles finally sat on the couch too, staring into the empty fireplace.

“I had no idea that he had retained his humanity the entire time,” he said softly.

“Who cares?” Buffy said in an equally subdued voice, “Even if he was an evil vampire, no one should be in that much pain.”

Giles shook his head. “That is not what I meant. Of course he does not deserve to suffer like that.”

Buffy was still shell shocked, her mind taking a long time to process what had happened. She was dimly away of the fact it was dark outside down, meaning she had spent at least four hours here. Where had the time gone?

“What do we do now?” she asked.

For once, Giles did not bother taking off his glasses to polish them. That alone spoke volume to how unbalanced he was.

“I have no idea,” he said. “But I think we can confidently say he is, truly, no longer a threat to any of us. If William is strong enough to hold back the demon, he might as well have a soul.”

“We saw it, we knew he was acting different. If we had just talked to him about it… Giles, I-I didn’t know,” she sniffed, eyes watering again.

“I know my dear,” he sighed, “but now we have to decide where he falls in our lives.”

“He’s staying with us,” she said firmly, “He likes you and my mom which is a start. He was trying to change for us but if he leaves… he’ll become evil again. I know it.”

“And if he wants to leave?” Giles asked carefully.

Buffy did not want to hold him here against his own will, that would accomplish nothing. Then she remembered, off all things, Ford’s vampire buffet clubhouse. It was not a night she dwelt on often, for obvious reasons. To have her last reminder of her normal life before becoming a Slayer be ripped away in such a violent fashion had been disheartening to say the least.

But Ford was the farthest thing from her mind right now. 

She remember instead when Spike and his minions had first burst in and started sinking their teeth into anything with a heartbeat. Her only hope had been to threaten the one thing in the room he had cared about.

The moment she had pointed that stake to Drusilla, everything had stopped. She had never seen fear in a vampire before, they seemed to have no understanding of the feeling.

Spike had been prepared to sacrifice everything that night, including himself, but his only concern had been Drusilla. At the time, she had been too busy trying to get everyone out to read into the action.

Now, though…

“Then we’ll give him a reason not to. I’m having that party Christmas Eve remember? I want to invite him. You’re going anyway so it’s not like he’ll have an excuse.”

“Need I remind you your friends are not as open minded about Spike?” he asked.

“I don’t care. My mom adores him - for some reason. You should have heard how angry she was at me for hurting his feelings. I’ll get him a present and everyone else can just grow up and deal with it like they did at Thanksgiving.” She was warming to her idea, “If we keep treating him like a vampire, that’s how he’ll always behave.”

She was not sure Spike had intended to admit it to her, he had been rambling towards the end, but his fear that he had become evil because it was expected of him resonated with her. She knew that did not mean the demon did not influence him, but it gave her hope that he really could change.

“Buffy, I am not sure if he should continue staying with me. He opened up to me once and that was under extreme duress.”

“Where else can he go?” she asked.

He sighed, “I do not know. He needs time with other people though if he is really to believe he is being accepted.”

“Hence the party idea.”

“Someone is sure to make a tasteless comment and rile him up. We need people beside you and I to keep him grounded.”

“I’ll think about it.” She glanced down the hall towards the bathroom. She had heard nothing from the room since leaving and it was beginning to worry her.

Getting up, she walked towards the bathroom quietly. Giles was close behind, having seen the looks she had been casting in that direction.

Peering around the corner, she was alarmed to see Spike had not moved. His head was bowed, arms resting on his knees.

“Spike?” she called softly but Giles stopped her from entering the room with a firm hand on her elbow.

“Perhaps it would be best if you left. What happened was undoubtedly confusing for him and he will need some time to adjust.”

She hated the idea of leaving now but knew Giles was making sense. The last thing she wanted was to somehow upset Spike further.

“Okay,” she said, retreating. “Me, Willow, and Xander are supposed to go to the mall later to finish shopping anyway.”

Giles nodded, “Do not worry over Spike, I will take care of him.”

Buffy smiled. “I know.” Impulsively, she hugged Giles tightly, “Thank you.”

He hugged her back loosely, “Of course.” Releasing her, he smiled, “Now get going so I can return my home to some semblance of order.”

She could not hold back a small grin as she left, feeling better than she had in two weeks. The cloud of guilt had diminished at the thought that maybe she really could fix all this.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike’s head hurt. It felt like someone had drivel a screwdriver through his temple, he could almost feel the blood running down his face. The cold of the floor was bleeding through his jeans but he could not muster the energy to rise.

What had happened?

He could not remember the last time he had cried, that had been one of Angelus’ most important rules. You could scream and beg until your voice gave out but crying was not allowed. He suspected it had been, in part, because Darla hated the noise. It was one of the reasons she had never been keen on hunting children, all those tears.

Drusilla had never been found of crying either though. She had always equated it with weakness. He had only done it once in her presence. Angelus had just dealt out an especially brutal punishment and he, as most fledglings were, had been devastated at the idea of losing his grandsire’s favor. 

But the comfort he had expected Drusilla to offer had never come. Instead, she had flown into a rage and nearly cut out his eye with those nails of hers.

He had not meant to cry all over Buffy but he had felt so completely lost that it was the only reaction that made any sense.

It was humiliating, being comforted by the same person who had caused at least some of the tears, but on the other hand he felt a sort of lightness he had not felt since before turning.

Hope.

All the turmoil William had been causing seemed to have lessened some. For two weeks he had felt the sod crying within him, the pain sometimes making him vomit after Giles had gone to bed but now he felt oddly free. William was still there, like an itch he could never reach, but it felt different.

His anger towards Buffy had faded some as well. It was still there, but the edges were no longer hard. She had refused to let the subject drop, refused to allow him to return to a place of indifference. It was more than most had done for him.

Now, though, any chances he had of returning to his old life were shot. Admitting to Buffy that William did not like him killing had made it real for him. He was already a traitor to all demons but now, unwilling to kill for food, he would be driven right out of California.

He was sure that if he really wanted to, he could kill a human. But he knew William well and the ponce had never been one for violence. Someone would have to do him harm if he were to be able to attack guilt free.

If this was how Angelus felt with the soul, then no wonder he was such an arse hole.

Giles was approaching the bathroom again and he felt a thrill of panic. He did not want to discuss what had happened with anyone, even himself. It would take a few days to wrap his head around everything and in the meantime, he would rather be left alone.

“Spike?” Giles was standing awkwardly in the doorway, Spike could smell his unease, thick and sour against his tongue.

“Hmm?” He raised his head a few inches, just enough to see the Watcher.

He looked surprised at getting a reaction, “Er… well I wanted to use the bathroom but…”

And Spike felt warmth bubble in his gut as a wave of affection hit him. Giles would allow him to take things at his own pace it looked. The bloke really was alright.

“Course, mate. Got it.” He rose stiffly to his feet, wincing as his broken toe took his weight.

He had not meant to kick the wall but he had not really been in control. At least Giles had not noticed. 

Exiting the bathroom, he pulled off the too tight shirt and tossed it on the ground. Sinking onto the couch, he turned on the television and started looking for something to watch.

Buffy’s words about lonely people watching television came back to him and he paused, finger grazing the volume button. Until she had started spewing her little theory about him, he had never given it much thought.

Of course, he loathed being alone, but lonely?

Turning off the television, he picked up the leather notebook resting on the coffee table. He flipped through to the first blank page and gazed at it thoughtfully. Robotically, he picked up a pen and began to write.

The pen’s trail across the paper was mesmerizing, ink flowing in a steady stream. When was the last time he had felt any type of motivation?

A cry of outrage from the bathroom made him pause from his half finished poem.

“Who put a hole in my bloody wall!?!”

He set aside the notebook and sat up, unable to conceal a smirk as Giles stormed from the room.

“You’d better relax mate, before that vein in your forehead explodes,” he deadpanned.

The neighbors, when calling the police later, would claim it sounded like someone was trying to kill someone with a crossbow next door.


	11. Message In A Bottle

“Okay, maybe we shouldn’t have waited so long to go Christmas shopping.” Willow remarked weakly from the passenger seat as Xander pulled into the mall parking lot.

Buffy was in complete agreement. Every single spot had been taken, rows and rows of cars gleaming dully in the weak light cast by the lampposts. 

“I can’t believe how irresponsible some people are, leaving their shopping to the last minute. I mean, we’re basically kids so it’s expected but all these adults…” Xander cruised down each and every lane, searching for somewhere to park.

Buffy was tuning out most of what Xander was saying. She was happy she was sitting in the backseat so her friends could not see the frown she had not been able to shake.

Ever since she had left Giles’, every fiber of her being had tried to pull her back. It had taken a few hours for her brain to wrap around the scene in the bathroom, her thoughts consumed by tear stained blue eyes and the feel of gel stiffened hair beneath her fingers.

It was the most intimate experience of her life.

She knew most people would not understand how that could be, how crying with someone in a bathroom could be more intimate than sex. But intimate was, by its very definition, something private and personal. 

The world seemed to have shrunk in the last few hours, what once felt so vast now inexplicably confining. 

Willow and Xander were still laughing, oblivious to her inner musings. She studied their reflections in the windshield. They were smiling so brightly, skin aglow with humor. 

She had never felt so far from them.

Being the Slayer meant she had always had more responsibilities than those around her. The stakes were higher and failure had never been an option. Her friends may share in her fight, may stay up late and whittle stakes or research obscure demons, but the fate of the world always seemed to ultimately rest on her shoulders.

She loved the two of them and knew that, without them, it was likely she herself would not have survived this long. The gap, however, that separated them had grown from a crack to a canyon. At some point, she had started to grow up and they had not.

Killing Angel to stop Acathla was where it had started. Words could not express what she had felt after. She had been numb but somehow extra sensitive to everything. She could feel nothing but the ache of despair had never lifted. Leaving Sunnydale had been her only option. She had needed to feel something, anything, and escaping her destiny had seemed her salvation.

She wondered what would have happened if she had never returned.

Xander and Willow continued to joke, never once looking to see if she shared in their mirth. She was a shadow, something they had grown accustomed to. But losing Angel had taught her that one could also become accustomed to loss.

She felt far older than eighteen, as if she had already lived a lifetime. She had the scars to prove it, the emotional baggage usually carried by someone much older. So many times she had lost her way, stumbling through the darkness and daring it to claim her. She had lost so many people - Angel, Kendra, her own father in a way.

It never got easier.

And when Spike had given himself to his emotions, allowing a century’s worth of misfortune to befall him in one bitter explosion, she had found a kindred spirit. But his pain seemed to outstrip even her own. For such despair to fester for so long, she could not imagine how twisted it could make the world seem. 

Christmas shopping felt so frivolous to her right now. Back at Giles’, she was sure Spike would be doing his damnedest to pretend nothing was amiss. He would not confide in the ex Watcher, his own pride holding him back. But he had broken down for her and she was certain she could repair him, stitch up every hurt.

Getting him a Christmas present was an important step she had to take but right now, still able to feel the heat of his tears upon her shoulder, she wanted nothing more than find him again and make him laugh.

He needed space though and she knew better than to overstep her bounds. He was like a kitten, tail puffed in defiance even as he quivered in terror. She suspected this was the first time he was addressing some of his most repressed feelings.

Finals were soon and she needed to focus on those as well. Giles would not let anything terrible happen to the blond in the meantime. After Christmas, she had a whole month off before the next semester started and in this four week span, she promised herself she would make everything right again.

“Can’t I just park in one of the handicap spots? I mean, does anyone actually check those?” Xander groused as he finished his second revolution around the stuffed parking lot.

“Check one more time, someone has to be leaving soon.” Willow implored, searching for a spot he may have missed.

Buffy caught Xander watching her from the rear view mirror and realized her silence must have been noticed.

“Willow’s right.” she said, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.

“Or maybe Buffy could just use her Slayer strength and push some car out of the way.” Xander joking but there was a serious hint to his tone as he surveyed the unyielding mass of parked cars.

“There’s one!” Willow shrieked, pointing excitedly to where an SUV had just pulled out.

“Hang on.” Xander muttered, tapping the gas and sending the car flying.

Buffy gripped Willow’s headrest to steady herself as the car careened towards certain doom. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster, her organs bouncing as Xander accelerated over speed bumps specifically designed to stop drivers like him.

To her utter amazement, they did not die.

The car shuttered to a halt within the white lines and Xander gave a sigh of relief, slumping forward. Willow looked green, her features drawn. Everyone sat their in silence for moment, reveling in their newly realized mortality.

“Xander, if you ever do that again…” Buffy threatened shakily, leaning forward to hit him on the back of the head.

“Then one of you drive next time.” he mumbled, turning off the car, “This may have been our only option.”

“Guys, most of the stores in the mall are going to close in an hour so maybe we should get going.” Willow checked her wristwatch.

The three climbed out, weak in the knees, and made their way towards the main entrance. The front was a wall of glass, allowing the light from inside to spill out and illuminate the people walking through the automatic doors.

Entering the mall, they froze in horror.

People were everywhere, the tiled floor completely obscured by thousands of pairs of feet. The escalators looked ready to buckle under their massive loads and the food court was now a mosh pit filled with screaming children.

Involuntarily, Buffy took a step back. The crowd of people entering however, hit her like a wave, urging her forward. To her dismay, she was swept up and forced away from her friends. She only just managed to maintain her footing, bodies surging around her. Trying to move against the crowd was impossible even with her Slayer strength - she did not want to hurt anyone.

Fortunately, most of the stores located on the lower level had large double door entrances and, after several failed attempts, she managed to duck through one of these.

Sighing in relief, she gave a quick look around where she was. The only patrons were teens clustered around racks of bright shirts. A piece of a Volkswagen Beetle was against the wall. Staring at the car, Buffy realized she was in a Gadzooks of all places.

The crowd outside the store had not lessened and she was not keen on rejoining the stampede. Willow and Xander could find their way to her. In the meantime, she still had to figure out what to get Spike.

Despite the time she had spent with the blond, she did not know all that much about what he liked aside from mayhem, blood, sex, probably blood mixed with sex… where had that come from?

Shaking her head doggedly, she began to walk around the store, waiting for something to pique her interest. 

A small stand held several CDs and she approached, remembering his battered CD player. Reading the names, she faltered. Even if she had known nothing about him, she was absolutely positive he would not appreciate Britney Spears. 

Moving on from the music, she next came to a small selection of make up. Most of it was unnecessarily gaudy, designed to attract teenagers who were beginning to experiment. There was black nail polish though and she picked a bottle up thoughtfully.

Ever since he had moved in with Giles, she had not seen so much as a hint of black on his finger nails. Seeing as he had showed up at Thanksgiving with just the clothes on his back, it was safe to say he had probably run out.

Wait… clothes.

She nearly facepalmed. How many time had she noticed what a poor fit Giles’ clothes were on him? Earlier today he had looked sad, nothing even remotely fitting him properly. He had acted indifferent about the whole thing but she was sure he missed his old attire.

Opening her purse, she counted out the money she had on her. With a thrill of excitement, she realized she could get him a few pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, and still have a bit left over. Clothes had that personal edge she wanted. Hopefully, it would be enough to set him at ease in the group. It would also help prove to her friends that Spike would be sticking around and they should just accept that.

Gadzooks, however, was not the place she needed. The clothes here were far too childish and colorful.

“Buffy!” a voice called and she turned in time to see Xander and Willow scramble into the store.

She walked over to them, “I wasn’t trying to ditch you guys. Promise.”

“I’ve never seen the mall like this before.” Willow said nervously, “Someone could get hurt.”

“More importantly, we’ll never get into the food court.” Xander complained. At the exasperated look he received from his friends, he rubbed his neck self consciously, “Not that food is more important than people getting trampled.”

“So, where should we go now?” Willow asked, “I mean, I don’t know what kind of stuff you guys need to get.”

Buffy stilled, realizing she had a slight dilemma. 

Buying clothes for Spike was all well and good but if the others saw her they would know and start asking questions. Spike’s style was a little unique after all. As she had learned from Thanksgiving, the less time her friends had to complain, the better in the long run. She had no intention of telling them about the additional guest for the Christmas Eve party until they had already arrived. With any luck, Giles’ acceptance of the situation would be enough to stop Xander from making one of his famously bad remarks.

“Maybe we should split up and meet up here. The stores close soon and we don’t exactly have time to visit them all.” Buffy said, which was not entirely untrue.

“I guess we have no choice.” Xander nodded in agreement.

“Okay. One hour and then we can have dinner in the food court. It should be cleared out a little by then.

The others agreed and, after a brief hesitation, they dove back into the crowds.

Buffy was delighted to find that the path to the escalator was easy to navigate. So many people were heading that way that she simply following along. She had decided the best place to shop would be Macy’s - she went there often enough to know they stocked what she needed. 

Getting off the escalator, she headed for the far side of the mall. The second floor was not as crowded and she sighed in relief as she was able to walk without fear of hitting someone else by mistake.

Reaching Macy’s, she made her way directly to the men’s department. Keeping her eyes trained forward, she tried to ignore the call of the shoe section. There was no time to shop for herself tonight.

To her relief, the men’s department was devoid of life, not even a sales representative present. For whatever reason, she felt like she was commiting a crime by being here. Her senses were on high alert as she looked through a rack that held pants.

Most of the jeans were blue or acid washed and she pushed them aside without a glance. The section of black was surprisingly small, only two dozen pairs wedged in the back.

Picking through these, she finally found black jeans that looked somewhat faded. It was as close as she could get to the coloration of his old pants and she pulled a few pairs loose for a better look.

Holding it up for inspection, she was relieved to find there were no patterns or rips decorating the denim. She was certain Spike would never forgive her if she mistakenly bought him pants with a butterfly stitched onto the ass.

Checking the waistband, her blood ran cold. For all her excitement, she had forgotten one, tiny insignificant detail.

She had absolutely no idea what size Spike was.

The tag on the jeans revealed another unexpected dilemma, men’s pants had two sizes. Guessing his waist size would be difficult enough but an inseam too? What even was an inseam?

Out of her depth, she looked around desperately for a sales rep. As she had noted earlier however, she was the only person in the men’s department. Time was running out, however, and she did not have the time to track someone down for help.

Spike was a few inches taller than her so she decided to work from there.

Holding the jeans up to her own waist, she tried to find a pair that covered her feet. After a few attempts, she realized she would have to find a another way to measure.

“Do you need assistance?” 

Buffy whirled, clutching the jeans guiltily. A bespectacled teen wearing a polo shirt adorned with the Macy’s logo was surveying her curiously.

“Um… yes actually.” she reddened, “I’m trying to buy pants for a friend but I… don’t know his size.”

“Oh a Christmas present then? Believe it or not, this happens all the time around the holidays.” he took the jeans from her hand and surveyed the rack critically, “How tall is he?”

“Uh… maybe five foot nine?” she guessed, trying to remember how tall he was in reference to her. Usually when they stood close, they were fighting and she was not really paying attention to the height difference.

“Okay he’s probably a thirty-four inseam then. What’s his build?”

“Slender. But he’s muscular too. Not too muscular though. I guess they call it an athletic build?” she rambled.

It felt obscene to be discussing Spike’s physique out loud, like she was admitting to this stranger she had seen him shirtless - which she had, earlier today in fact, but that was besides the point.

Fortunately, the sales rep did not seem to care, “Okay. Does he prefer a type of cut?”

“Form fitting.” she answered confidently.

“This is your best bet then.” he handed her a pair.

She took it, relieved. Who would have thought buying jeans could be so difficult?

“Thank you so much.” she said brightly.

“My pleasure. If you need help with anything else, just let me know. I’ll be around somewhere.” he said, walking away.

Buffy returned to the rack, getting two more jeans. She figured three pairs would be more than enough for him. As far as she was aware, vampires did not sweat so he would not have to change his clothes every single day.

The shirt section was located right next to the pants and she walked through, keeping an eye out for anything black. Near the underwear, she found a pack of black t-shirts. They were inexpensive so she picked up a set of three mediums. 

Glancing at the underwear, she wondered if Spike would need those too. Then she wondered if he even wore any. And if he did, would that mean he had been borrowing Giles’ for the last few weeks?

Visibly blanching, she moved on hastily, deciding she really, really did not want to know the answer to that question. Ever.

She looked down at the bundle of clothes she held. It seemed kind of underwhelming, just a pile of black cloth. Before it had seemed the perfect gift but now doubt was beginning to worm its way in and expel her excitement. 

Their shared moment in the bathroom may have repaired some bridges but she knew Spike was not one to forget a wrong. Still, the foundation for forgiveness had been laid. 

But were clothes enough?

For all she the poking and prodding she had done, there was still so little she knew about Spike. She knew his insecurities but not his favorite band, knew his past but not his hobbies, knew what made him cry but now what made him laugh.

And while these things seemed trivial, Buffy knew that friendships were built on the trivial. 

The clothes she held represented what Spike showed everyone, the belligerent punk persona that caused him to be feared in the demon community. As she had learned today however, beneath that punk lived a man who craved affection and feared loneliness.

She did not want her gift to only compliment the vampire least it come off as superficial. He needed to know she had been paying attention, the she cared enough to see and accept William too.

It felt weird to think as the demon and William as two separate entities that together made up Spike, but she could feel that right now those two halves were in discord. They were not lining up, most likely in part because Spike had only just come to terms with William’s resurrection.

Spike had clearly accepted the demon part of himself a long time ago. He had had over a century’s worth of time to test and acclimate to it. William was brand new though.

Sighing, she shifted the clothes in her arms to a more comfortable position. All this contemplating was exhausting, how did Giles do it?

The checkout line was near and she hopped onto the end, holding back a yawn.

The last few hours had finally caught up with her, weariness settling heavily throughout her body. She paid for her items quickly, answering the cashier’s questions with single word responses.

Picking up her shopping bag, she left the store. As it was so late, most of the shoppers had finally cleared out and she was wasted no time making her way to the escalator. Willow and Xander were probably waiting for her in the food court.

The lack of a crowd meant she was able to window shop as she walked, her eyes sliding from one store display to the next. 

She did not immediately see the item, too lost in thought to take in much of her surroundings. The garish colors from inside the store, however, caught her attention.

Unwittingly, she wandered closer to get a better look.

Blues, reds, and yellows jumped out at her - the brightness enough to make her eyes hurt. The front window displayed a selection of objects and she looked at each one, enthralled by the innocence.

Then she saw it, nestled in the corner of the glass. The moment her eyes landed on it, she knew it was the perfect gift for Spike.

Hastily, she checked her purse and counted out her remaining money. She had about thirty dollars left. Leaning close to the glass, she sought for a price tag.

Twenty dollars.

She rushed into the store, knowing it would be closing shortly.

It really was the ideal gift and she knew it would go a long way in helping her repair things with Spike.

And it was black so he could not complain about the color.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had been watching her for the last hour, brown eyes drinking in the sight of her hungrily. When he had first caught her scent, it had seemed like a dream. How often had he spent pining for her smell, her touch?

Finding her at the mall had been surprising. It was so crowded that picking her out should have been impossible. He had always suspected their connection, however, went beyond the physical. Whenever she was near, he could feel it, feel her.

Following her had been simple, she had appeared to be lost in thought and never once noticed him, not even when he had been in Macy’s with her.

He wished everything had not gone to shit like it had at Thanksgiving. Spike’s appearance had ruined what should have been a nice reunion. One would think that the blond menace would have had the good grace to show a little respect for his grandsire but no, he had instead initiated a brawl.

Knowing Buffy had stuck up for his childe instead of himself had stung terribly, a tingling burn that settled just under the surface of his cold flesh. Since then, he had stayed in a motel on the outskirts of Sunnydale. He had fed his team back in Los Angeles some cock and bull story about tracking a rare demon. They had bought the lie which had allowed him to remain here, his anger festering to loathing.

He was not sure what Spike had done to Buffy but it had to be stopped immediately. His childe had always had an unhealthy fascination with Slayers and it seemed he was the only one who remembered that the blond had tried to kill Buffy a dozen times at least.

His musings were broken as he watched Buffy enter the men’s department. With narrowed eyes, he kept parallel to her, situating himself by several racks of shirts so she would not see him.

After their last meeting, he was a little wary about approaching her directly. Spike could have told her forty years worth of horror stories about himself. He remembered when his past had not mattered to her, when she had calmly attributed his actions to that of a soulless demon. She had changed her tune in the last few months, no doubt because of Spike’s influence.

She was looking through the men’s jeans and his brow furrowed in confusion. The only two males he was aware of her being close with were the Watcher and that boy, Xander. Perhaps she was getting one of them a present, Christmas was in two weeks after all.

When she pulled out a black pair, he ignored the warning signal telling him something was amiss. She moved on to the shirts and he followed carefully.

When she picked up several black t-shirts, his demon bucked viciously and he was nearly consumed by fury.

Spike. She was buying clothes for Spike.

He left the store hurriedly, trying to reign in his demon. Shoving people out of the way, he descended down the escalator and stalked out of the mall.

“What the hell is going on?” he snarled.

A woman walking by gave him a fearful look and veered away sharply.

Halting, he took a deep breath. He needed to get back in control. Wandering around in a fury would not do him any good, Sunnydale had become more dangerous of late and it would not do well for him to wander around stinking of killing intent.

Taking another breath, he set off across the parking lot at a more relaxed pace. He was still wired but moving worked off some of the energy that often accompanies rage. By the time he reached the motel, only a half mile from the mall, he had cooled considerably.

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and shrugged off his coat, hanging on the back of the desk chair. Out of habit, he turned on a lamp and light bathed the small room.

It was dismal, clean but sad looking. The color scheme was bleak, all greys and browns. 

He picked up the phone from the night stand and dialed quickly. As he knew it would, his call to Angel Investigations went to voicemail.

He checked in with his team regularly to let them know he was alright. Generally, these calls were made when he was certain no one would be around to answer them. The messages he left were brief, just enough to keep everyone out of his business, and no one seemed to mind his prolonged absence.

Sunnydale, however, was not the same place he had left behind six months ago. 

He had never been aware of the number of demons who lived in the surrounding area. With the tunnel reconstruction well under way, dozens of vampires and the like had made an appearance. He had come across species he had only ever heard legends of, myths from so long ago they could not possibly be true.

Of course, these demons had also heard of him.

To keep Buffy from knowing he was around, he rarely strayed far from his motel room. It aggravated him to no end that he could not keep an eye on her but the name Angelus was still infamous to this day. Someone was sure to recognize him and report to Willy. 

He began pacing around the small room, his broad frame feeling freakishly big in the confined space. From behind the closed window curtains, the gleam from the headlights of a car in the parking lot still managed to shine through the thin fabric.

Approaching the window, he pulled the curtain back a few inches and looked out to the parking lot. He kept tabs on everyone in and around the motel, lest he be caught unaware. Some vampires were still none too happy about the part he had played in burying the Hellmouth.

A new car had arrived, bearing Ohio plates, and as he watched, a family clamored out. Two small children were being herded towards the main office by a woman while the man leaned against the car and lit a cigarette.

Replacing the curtain, Angel retreated towards the bed and sat down heavily. The springs squeaked in protest as he jostled them but he hardly noticed the sound.

Cigarettes only really reminded him of one demon, the same demon who was the reason he was here instead of in Los Angeles.

Sometimes, he really wished Drusilla had been too insane to sire.

Seeing Buffy buying clothes for Spike had been alarming. As far as he was aware, Spike had no hypnotic abilities. He was no great shake at magic either, though his knowledge of curses was somewhat dismaying. 

So, why was Buffy buying him clothes?

He had assumed that whatever fragile truce had been struck up in November would have been destroyed by now. The last time he had seen the Slayer and vampire interact, they had been as cold with one another as he had expected, only mutual need making them swallow their pride long enough to work together.

He was certain Buffy was in danger from Spike. The blond had killed two seasoned Slayers already. Something sinister had to be at work, there was no other explanation for this sudden shift in temperament. 

Spike would have to be eliminated.

But he could not be the one to do it. If Buffy ever found out… No, it was best to leave this to someone else.

Reaching for the phone again, he dialed a familiar number.

“Hello?” an elderly voice answered impatiently after the second ring.

“It’s Angel.” he said shortly.

The demon on the other end laughed, “Change yer name as ya please, but the past stays the same, Angelus.”

“I need some information.” the conversation was already beginning to wear on the vampire.

“Reckon so, only reason you’d call the likes of me. What are you lookin’ to find?”

“I need the names of someone powerful near the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Someone powerful enough to kill a master vampire.” his grip tightened on the phone.

“And what’s it worth to ya? I’m runnin’ a business y’know.”

“I have money.” he fingered his pocket, which held a rather thin wallet, “I could get you five hundred dollars in a few days.”

“Don’t usually deal with money. No, I like to trade for things of value.”

Angel was losing patience. He needed this information immediately, otherwise he would not have bothered calling a specialist.

“Money is all I’m willing to offer, I don’t deal in the trading of virgin hearts or whatever’s become popular lately.” he growled menacingly.

“My my, you have changed boy. It’s a shame, truly. So much wasted talent.”

“Do we have a deal or not?” 

“There are a few demons around Sunnydale capable of taking down a master vampire. I must warn you though, most are not known for playing nice.” the voice had become much more business-like.

Angel rolled his eyes, “Well, who do you recommend then?”

“Are you, perhaps, familiar with the wolf tribes of East Asia?”

“Do you mean werewolves?” Angel asked.

The term seemed familiar but he could not place it. Asia was not a place he had visited often aside from that brief stint during the Boxer Rebellion.

“I advise you to never call one of them a werewolf to their face, they take offense to the term.”

“What are they then?” this conversation was getting irritating.

The specialist’s tone became more serious, the joking edge vanishing, “As long as man has walked this earth, so too have demons. Many of the elder breeds have died out or cross bred themselves out of existence. A few, however, valued their bloodlines and took great pains to make sure they remained ‘pure’ as they say.

“The wolf tribes of the east were begun by the earliest known shapeshifters - Nightstalkers. They were the precursors to the modern werewolf as human blood entered the lineage. Those who kept to their own kind, however, became a powerful, if small, race.”

“And some of these Nightstalkers are in Sunnydale?” he asked.

“Yes. From what I have gathered, two who go by the names Samuel and Ezra have been in town for several months now.”

“And they can kill someone of my own family?” he had to be absolutely sure.

“My dear Angelus, even the Master was careful to avoid antagonizing them.”

“How do I contact them?”

“You don’t. They’ll find you. I must warn you though, most of your dealings should go through Samuel. Rumor is Ezra has gone a tad insane.”

“Insane?” Angel asked derisively.

“Do not underestimate them. The magic which runs through their veins is as old as the first Slayers. Now, the matter of the money-”

“It will be sent to you after I have spoken to these two. I don’t like for paying for false information.” he hung up abruptly and laid back on the bed.

This was a dangerous game he was playing, contracting one of these Nightstalkers for mercenary work. Demons were not, by and large, known for being reliable. He wondered why he had never heard of these two if they were supposedly so terrifying even the Master had avoided them.

Rolling onto his side, he stared unseeingly at the wall. He still could not believe that Buffy had become so casual with Spike. Inviting him to the holidays, buying him clothes, she should know better. Spike must be playing with her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew though, that Buffy was not likely to listen to him. By now, Spike had had suitable time to poison her thoughts of him.

He remembered the contempt she had showed during Thanksgiving. Never once had he expected for her to look upon him like any other vampire. Their bond was special, an unbreakable chain that bound them to one another. 

Killing Spike was the only option available to him. If Buffy had been placed under a spell, then the easiest way to break her free was to destroy the link.

Besides, it was not like Spike had ever done the world any good. He was an evil, soulless vampire who thrived in destruction.

Still though, Angel could remember a time when the blond had been so desperate to prove himself. He had taught him how to survive, how to torture and maim. Those blue eyes would be full of excitement, eager to please.

And then he had killed a Slayer.

The dynamic had changed rapidly after. Spike refused to take orders from anyone in the group and began becoming more independent. Angel had left soon after but he could still remember the turmoil caused by the Whirlwind’s youngest member.

So many times Angelus had tried to break Spike - break his body, break his spirit. But somehow, he had always prevailed.

And now he had snared Buffy.

Growling, he kicked off his shoes and stared at the ceiling. Hopefully, this Samuel fellow would contact him soon and he could formulate a plan to remove his childe from the equation. Permanently.


End file.
